If Not, Winter
by olgatheodora
Summary: New Caprica has been invaded, the Colonial fleet has jumped away, and Laura Roslin finds herself in a bit more trouble than she expected. AU.
1. Friendly Takeover

AN: Betaed by deepforestowl and ghoulsis. This story was written during the hiatus between season 2 and season 3, and thus creates a universe all of its own.

Please note that I published this story under the pen name Olga Theodora on LJ, and Olga Luthien on Survival Instinct. They are both me!

All Sappho translations are by Anne Carson.

_I simply want to be dead._

_Weeping she left me_

_with many tears and said this:_

_Oh how badly things have turned out for us._

_ - Sappho_

On the day the Cylons invaded New Caprica, several important things happened: the union went on strike, an early spring flower bloomed too soon, and Laura Roslin discovered she was pregnant.

It was- she thought grimly, shepherding a group of children to a nearby tent- a day of ill omens. Maya walked beside her, eyes fixed on the passing machines, arms clasped tightly around little Hera- Isis, now. Laura wondered how long it would be until the Cylons realized what was under their very noses, or how long this so-called "friendly takeover" would last. The first union worker to pick up a gun (and there was no pretending that they didn't have them; they were, after all, former military) would probably pull everything down around their ears. The gods only knew how long they had until that moment.

One of the smaller girls- Mimi, blonde, pigtailed, and bespectacled- lagged behind, her left hand laxly dropping from Laura's right. Her thumb crept to her mouth as she watched the Cylons, what little sun there was glinting off the lenses of her glasses. Laura swerved to pick her up, grateful for the extra warmth, but appalled at her body's own weakness and the lightness of the child's frame. Mimi fixed her with a trusting look, and popped her thumb out of her mouth.

"Miss Roslin," she said seriously, "I've never seen them before."

Not much of a surprise. Mimi had only been a toddler when Caprica was destroyed, and the only Cylons she would have seen since then would have been indistinguishable from the other adults around her. Prettier, perhaps. More enduring.

"They're Cylons," Eric announced importantly, just a few steps ahead. He looked back at her and grinned mischievously. "They eat little girls."

One look at Mimi's face told Laura that a nuclear meltdown was imminent, something that would best be avoided in the current circumstances. She ducked through the doorway of the tent, the last through, and pulled the flap shut behind her. "Eric… you know how I feel about lies," she admonished, squelching a grimace and the thousandth 'if only…' of the past hour. She placed Mimi on her feet and knelt beside her. "Cylons do not eat little girls," she stated, "or little boys, or adults. They are here-" she paused minutely, searching for an explanation, "-to help us."

They both looked at her doubtfully. Maya looked up from where she was arranging the other children in a rough circle ("Story time!" she was saying, Isis still clutched awkwardly to her chest). "Exactly," she chipped in. "They've come to help us with our governing." She shot Laura a look of mingled amusement and horror. "Should we read _Delia in Spring_ or another chapter of our book?"

The children clamored for the latter. Mimi and Eric, sufficiently distracted with the promise of a story, joined the group while Laura fetched a pile of old blankets, having noticed Mimi's cold hands and the red noses several children sported. Once cozy and comfortable- at least as comfortable as this planet got, but children were adaptable- Maya opened a well-worn book and settled in front of the group, having finally surrendered Isis to a clutch of the admiring older girls. Laura rested against the side of a small, battered cabinet; hands tucked in pockets and knees against her chest, and let her mind drift.

This was the future the people had chosen. It had been bad enough before the Cylons had arrived, but at least then there was the comfort in being pioneers. They may be cold, they may be starving, the populace may be near anarchy, but at least they were somewhat free. Their president may be a morally corrupt despot, but there was at least the comfort that he was (hopefully) human through and through. It was a thin line to walk, and she seemed to be the only one on the planetary surface who stood to one side, watching the others cling to their last threads of hope. Gods knew that she had lost her hope months ago.

She resisted the urge to slip one of her hands over her stomach. Her pregnancy was the most badly timed joke fate could play on her at this moment. How could she have gotten pregnant in the first place? She was old- not ancient, by any means, but for all intents and purposes past child bearing. Her one thought was that her cure (Baltar's one good deed) had been more encompassing than anyone had thought.

And as for the other part of the "how"… well, she knew that well enough.

"Now, Peter knew that the gods had created many beautiful things," Maya was saying, "but he had never seen anything quite as beautiful as Mara's yellow submarine." The children giggled. Laura smoothed away the beginning of her own smile with a finger, and listened to the not quite muted thumps and occasional crash outside.

They were lost, she knew. Lost and- if the rumors could be trusted- abandoned by the fleet. She half believed the rumor, knowing that if faced with a Cylon fleet of this size, Bill would make a jump to save his people and save any hopes of rescuing the refugees for later. They would not be much use to those on the ground dead, after all. So Laura believed that they had left, but she did not believe it was for good.

What she was coming to believe was that any hope of rescue would be useless, anyway.

There was a scream outside, and Maya raised her voice in an attempt to cover it. The children glanced at Laura, then at Maya, and then the door, before finally turning their attention back to the story. Their backs, stiff with attentiveness, told her that they were no longer really listening.

The flap opened, and the red-visored head of a Cylon peered in, finally coming to rest on Laura. "Your presence has been requested," it informed her, in a voice not unlike the one that used to make announcements in metro stations on Caprica. She half-expected it to intone a warning to mind the gap. "Please attend."

She stood slowly, aware that the children had dropped any pretense of not being afraid, and followed the machine out the door.

As they drew farther away from the tent, the surrounding area grew quieter and quieter, and it took a moment before she realized why, with a quick look around her. Every eye- human and Cylon alike- was fixed on her as she proceeded through the camp. One brave woman, half veiled in fog, crept to her side as she walked, and clasped her hand briefly.

"They will make you a martyr," was all she said, tears rolling down her cheeks, before disappearing into the mist.

Laura rather expected that, anyway.

She passed Starbuck, who had the light of battle in her eyes, and with a glance Laura tried to enforce a single command: _stand down._ Starbuck bridled at the order, hands clenched, and then turned, distracted by a series of coughs inside of her dwelling. She looked back at Laura before she had completely passed, momentarily subdued, a shadow in her eyes as she viewed Laura for the second time. Laura could practically hear her thought:

_Dead man walking_.

* * *

_He handed her a glass of some unidentifiable alcohol- green, a very uncomfortable color for a beverage- and then a book._

_"I used to read it to the boys," he commented. "Let the other children get some enjoyment out of it." He was sitting on the only other flat surface beside her bed and the floor, a very rickety chair (was it wrong to hope that it might collapse?), and that ridiculous mustache on his face. _

_She tucked the book in a nearby bag and took a sip of the liquid. Almost like cinnamon. Not bad. "It must be very quiet on Galactica." _

_"Like a tomb. But then I come down here, and remember why I stay in the sky."_

_She considered chucking the glass at his head (he'd never get the stain out of his uniform). "The weather is a bit… off," she said in a bland tone. _

_"Makes my arthritis act up," he continued. "Is it ever dry, down here?"_

_"One day out of the year, as best we can tell," she replied, and tucked her feet beneath her. "We're hoping for an official holiday, so that we can sunbathe."_

_He laughed a bit at that. He ran a few fingers over his mustache, and she noticed that for the first time in their acquaintance he was not wearing his wedding ring. "I'll try and arrange a visit for that auspicious day. Not that the President will care, either way."_

_"I don't see why you keep visiting, if you're not being ordered to," she commented, swirling the liquid slightly in the glass. _

_He gave her an unreadable glance. "Oh," he said. "I have my reasons."_

* * *

Baltar's office was crowded; aides, president, and Cylons were scattered around the room in apparent harmony, with a very familiar blonde perched on the edge of the desk. Baltar retained his presidential seat, eyes trained on the blonde, his expression somewhere in between devotion and dismay.

Six looked away from Baltar, smirking. "Dr. Roslin, a pleasure to see you again."

"I can't say that I feel quite the same," Laura replied. "Gaius, yet another success for your presidency," she added dryly. _Great frakking job, Gaius_.

"Charming as always," he said, finally breaking his gaze away from Six. "And how are the children?"

"Thriving," she replied coldly. "Now, how can I … help?"

Six leaned forward, propping her forearms on her thighs. "By accepting us." There was no evidence of her smirk left on her face; rather, she looked intensely serious. "Despite losing the presidency- or because of it- you still command the respect of most of the populace. The transition will go much smoother if you were to, say, lend your support."

_They will make you a martyr_.

"I cannot support your regime," she said quietly, thinking of spiraling DNA and its components. How different was she than the woman talking with her?

Six nodded. "It is difficult for you, I know. You're a strong woman; I admire your principles. But know, Dr. Roslin, we have not come to be your tyrannical overlords, but your caretakers. We come in peace… with force." She offered a smile, a let's-be-friends smile, winsome and charming. "You want the best for the children, after all."

Laura took a seat that she hadn't been offered. "They won't believe me. My influence is not as vast as you seem to think."

"But the appearance of cooperation would soften the blow," Six demurred, sliding off the desk. Baltar's eyes followed her hips. "I suggest you seriously consider this." Her glance flicked so quickly to Laura's midriff and back to her face that Laura couldn't be sure it had even happened at all. "It would be better for you all."

* * *

_Sometime around winter solstice he stopped visiting on a regular basis. She sat alone solstice night, staring at the clouded sky, thick with snow, and wondering just what, exactly, had held him up. It wasn't that they had made plans- not exactly- but she almost expected a message, at least. A few words, even._

_This was why Laura had tired so early in life of dating. Not that she was sure they were "dating," as the term was commonly used. But she understood that he had certain intentions, and she wasn't averse to those intentions, and really, that's where their understanding of the matter seemed to come to a grinding halt. He- as she understood- still hadn't completely forgiven her for the attempt to steal the election. She- as she understood herself- didn't quite blame him for that, but with every child she saw that bore the same look of mild starvation she felt a sharp burst of anger directed at both him and herself. At least aboard a ship they would have been warm._

_But when he didn't turn up the month after that, or the month after that, she tracked down Starbuck and asked her to send an inquiry after his health._

_Just in case._

* * *

"You know as well as I do that the materials simply aren't available," Doc Cottle groused. "Laura, I know that this is a less than perfect time to bring a child into the world, and I am aware that your pregnancy is, to be frank, completely unexpected- _completely_-"

_Thank you_, she thought wryly.

"-but the bottom line is that if I tried to perform an abortion, you would stand a high chance of bleeding out on my barely sterilized operating table."

Laura perched on the nearest chair, and nodded. "I know. I just wanted to… check. You know that I am watched very closely."

He nodded, allowing himself a brief chuckle. "At least half of their spies must be tagged on you alone. '12:15- Roslin looks at the sky; tells children clouds look like bunnies on swing-set. Code?'" he mocked, pulling a battered cigarette out of his pocket. "'Please advise.'"

She smiled wanly. "I have no desire to allow a child of mine to be raised as a pawn in the Cylon regime," she continued carefully, trying to hide the fact that the possibility scared her more than anything else in the galaxy at the moment (Bill was best not worried about, lest she decide to make a desperate dash for the mountains out of sheer anxiety). "And now that I have been recruited to 'help' with the transition in governments-"

"Recruited?"

"With lightly veiled threats."

"Ah." He shrugged. "There isn't anything I can do." He eyed her frame. "Except scrounge up some bulky sweaters- I have a few you can borrow, though you'll look like a Yeti- and look for another close-lipped woman like Maya to take the baby afterwards. And pray, for whatever that's worth."

She looked bleakly at the floor. "Sweaters," she agreed. "It's cold enough, anyway."

* * *

_Starbuck gave her a single message:_

_"There is a theory that we have become too close."_

_She didn't see him again for another two months._


	2. A Vainly Barking Tongue

_with anger spreading in the chest_

_to guard against a vainly barking tongue._

_-Sappho_

* * *

_Time was relative on New Caprica, if by "relative" you meant "mind-numbingly slow." Few people kept calendars; those that did simply kept an eye out for the next holiday, which would be little different from the days surrounding it except for a different greeting. "Happy Solstice." "Blessed New Years." "The gods are with us."_

_Laura- who did keep a calendar, although she suspected that it was because she liked to torture herself with a reminder of how long she had been on this wretched planet, and how long she conceivably had before finally dying and thus, leaving- still found the days trickling by in a kind of indistinguishable, fogged haze, only notable for minor victories with the children. So-and-so learned the times table, such-and-such overcame her mental block in learning historical dates. So it was that two months, which would have gone by so quickly on Colonial One or Galactica, felt like an eternity on New Caprica. She had long stopped expecting to see Bill every time she turned around; she half-expected to never see him again, and really, all she wanted at the end of the day was to be unconscious, anyway._

_Which was apparently exactly what was on Bill's mind, because when she finally walked into her tent one evening near Beltane, bone weary, she found him sprawled out over her bed, asleep. As that was exactly what she had been intending to do, she was somewhat bewildered: should she sleep on the floor (cold and damp), kick him out (not very friendly), or order him to move over? _

_She took the path of least resistance and maximum warmth. _

"_Move over. Now."_

* * *

Maya knew. From her covert glances, parts scared, thrilled, and amazed (which Laura personally took offense at, but understood) and her refusal to let Laura move anything heavier than a book, it was easy to deduce. Wisely, she had yet to say anything in public or private, but Laura figured it was only a matter of time before her secret was out in the open.

_Frak_. And she wasn't even close to showing, yet. Plus, if Maya had figured it out, it was a good chance that certain other observant members of the population- besides the Cylons, who had most likely known the first time they glanced at her- knew as well. Starbuck would have been one if not for her preoccupation with Anders. Tigh, even distracted by Ellen, probably knew already, though she had only seen him two or three times in passing since his arrival. He seemed to have a sixth sort of sense when it came to anything involving Bill; it vaguely amused her to imagine that some sort of special aura radiated from the area around her midriff, perhaps reading "William Adama was here."

(Perhaps he was thinking, "Thank the gods. He finally got laid.")

Her saving grace was that, even joined at the hip with Six, Baltar had yet to realize or be told. If he knew, doubtless he would have found a reason to issue an order for an abortion, whether Cottle had the supplies or not.

The closest Maya had ever come to hinting at her knowledge was her daily inquiry after Laura's health. "I've been better," was all Laura would say. She was becoming quite the master of shameless understatement.

* * *

_She woke up in the middle of the night to a thump. Rolling over, she looked over the edge of the bed. "What are you doing on the ground?" she asked, not quite awake, but still aware that her hair probably looked like something out of an old horror movie._

_He sat up stiffly. "You pushed me out of it."_

_She stifled a laugh at his aggrieved tone. "Are you accusing me of kicking in my sleep?"_

_"No. Shoving. You're surprisingly violent, even for a woman who used to have people thrown out of airlocks."_

_She shot him a look that would have had the children quivering in their seats if she dared to use it. He was made of sterner stuff- something she would have remembered if she had been more awake- and simply pushed her to the side and climbed back in._

_"You also steal the blankets," he informed her, purposefully trapping the edge of the covers underneath him. "Goodnight."_

_"Frak you, Bill," she huffed, and turned away._

_He muttered something she couldn't hear, but the last thing she remembered before falling back asleep was his arm snaking around her waist._

* * *

As much as it pained her to admit, the Cylons were certainly better organized than Baltar's administration. Admittedly, that wasn't very hard to do, but within weeks of their arrival the new overlords had managed to pacify the union and put up several permanent buildings in record speed; not for themselves, which had been expected, but for the human members of the community who most needed it: families with young children, the infirm elderly. A school and hospital were also in the works, and from every corner of the colony came the buzz of surprised approval.

Laura found it terrifying. She didn't like to think of herself as prejudiced- perhaps "racist" would be the appropriate term; she wasn't sure- but she seemed to be one of the few people who were still openly cautious about accepting the new order of things. She thought she might have an ally in Starbuck, but the young woman certainly seemed much more at ease now that Anders had been cured of pneumonia. The Cylons, it seemed, were their "saviors" in more ways than one, bringing not only a strained sort of peace, but also food and antibiotics. Laura assumed that Doc Cottle and Tigh were also of the same sort of mind, but it was difficult to meet with them without arousing suspicion. Besides, they, along with Starbuck and the more influential members of the populace, had been promoted and given greater duties, rendering them (one assumed) grateful and busier than before. Laura herself had been offered a position, much like the one she had held before becoming president.

"Ah, no," she had said with a serene smile. "I'm feeling my age, I'm afraid."

Maya had been selected instead, which Laura thought was particularly advantageous to the Cylons- she lived close to Laura, after all, and they worked together on a regular basis. Who better to keep an eye on a possible troublemaker? As for Maya's role as a mother, the new government officials were more than pleased to accommodate her when it came to finding the time to care for Isis.

So Laura stood back from the bustling crowd, so to speak, and watched the changes carefully, both in their society and her own body. In public, she did her best to play the aging, unthreatening woman; in private, she tried to determine the Cylons' next move beforehand. Strategy, she told herself, would be everything in this game.

She tried to keep a calm head, but it was difficult. It was infuriating to think that no one else, besides her, remembered why they had fled in the first place.

Obviously, nuclear holocausts were just not that memorable.

* * *

_In the morning, things were easier, but stranger. For one, she woke up warm for the first time in months, and as a result of this, had slept quite well- after the whole shoving incident, anyway- and felt moderately rested. Also, it was still early, even for a population of colonists._

_And for another, the cause of her warmth was currently snoring into her neck. Softly, but definitely snoring._

_Thank the gods. He really was human, after all._

_She suddenly found herself presented with a surfeit of choices. She could wake him up- which held many options in itself, mainly in the "how" and "to do what" departments- or she could languorously doze for another hour and hope he would still be around to explain himself later._

_She was too practical to leave such a thing to fate, at this point. So she poked his shoulder, hard, though the nail on her index finger probably could have used trimming about a week ago._

_And in an interesting twist of fate, she was the one dumped onto the floor this time around._

_Note to self, Roslin: never poke a sleeping soldier._

_He peered over the edge of the bed this time. "Don't do that again," he ordered, the effect somewhat diminished by the yawn that followed his words. He then extended a hand to help her up, and nearly dragged her back under the covers. "Too frakking cold," he muttered, and pinned her with a gaze that was suddenly much more awake. "Did you want to talk?"_

_She debated the merits of replying, 'No, Bill, I wanted to frak'-and my, her mind was certainly going a bit haywire these days- but in the end decided the possible embarrassment outweighed the potential benefits._

_"Been a while," was her extremely smooth reply._

_He seemed to spot it for what it was: lame. But he was gracious enough to respond. "I was finally granted permission to visit planet side. And I missed you."_

_There was a beat of silence, then two, before she replied. "Okay."_

_And rolled back over, as if intending to go back to sleep, all the while cursing herself for being an incompetent coward. She wasn't in office anymore, after all. If she wanted to frak the admiral of the fleet, disbanded as it was, then she should just go ahead and do it. Repeatedly, even._

_Still. She was being watched so carefully, would it even be worth it to place both him and herself into danger?_

_Frakking, it seemed, was a dangerous business._

* * *

Laura was beginning to fancy herself an excellent actress- just schoolmarm Roslin over here, uh huh- by the time her third month came near an end. The weather was still cold, she had the bulkiest sweaters ever created to shroud her little surprise, and no one, other than the increasingly busy Maya, seemed to have guessed. If it weren't for the fact that she only had a limited amount of time that she could conceivably continue this charade, she would have been pretty pleased with herself.

As it was, it became increasingly hard day after day to hide the true state of Laura Roslin. The belly was still easy enough to hide- only a gentle curve at this point, and if she remembered her mother's diaries correctly, she would stay relatively small throughout- but the damned pregnancy glow was interfering with her fragile old woman act. How dare her body betray her at this crucial time by becoming alarmingly healthy and robust?

(It occurred to her, at this point, that her hormones were probably interfering with her normally sane and rational thought process.)

So she- perfect citizen Roslin, who in the end was unable to steal an election- stole Maya's spare tube of concealer, and woke up a few minutes early every morning to very carefully make herself look as haggard as possible. Her first try she had apparently been a tad too enthusiastic: after the first dozen double takes and anxious inquiries after her health, she became much more sparing in application. She had never more keenly felt the lack of a mirror.

When she had finally run the spiral of blaming herself (repeated roughly seventeen times a day, or once for every hour she was awake), she turned to blaming the only other possible person: William Adama himself.

And even though it made her feel like a character in a soppy romance novel, she still found herself thinking: damn that incredibly virile man.

And really, the thought of herself as a silly, knocked-up romance novel heroine was the greatest blow to her dignity.


	3. The President, Not The Prophet

_Close to me now as I pray,_

_lady Hera, may your gracious form appear,_

_to which the sons of Atreus prayed,_

_ glorious kings._

_They won very many prizes_

_first at Troy then on the sea_

_and set out for here but_

_ could not complete the road_

_until they called on you and Zeus of suppliants_

_and Thyone's lovely child._

_Now be gentle and help me too_

_ as of old._

_ -Sappho_

* * *

Surprisingly, it was Starbuck who approached Laura first, inviting her casually to dinner. "The Old Man used to talk about both of us as part of his family," she explained, diligently darning a worn patch on the tent that served as Laura's classroom, a task she had set herself to as soon as she had wandered in, after all the children had left. Bare weeks separated them from having an actual school building. "And you seem to be alone whenever you aren't teaching. He wouldn't like that." She flashed Laura a smile. "Besides, you haven't seen our new shack, yet."

That was a small surprise. A series of small, weather-tight, and one to two room houses had been erected along with larger, barrack constructions shared by several families. Apparently Starbuck's new situation in life was impressive enough to warrant a little privacy.

Kara seemed to read her thoughts. "It was Anders getting sick, mostly," she offered. "Doc said he seemed especially prone to falling sick again, and I guess they thought it would help." She looked up from her work for a moment, looking torn. "And, well, I'm pregnant."

Laura decided that she wanted to be far, far away from Lee when he found that out. "A lot of people are," she replied, giving a safe answer to Starbuck's unspoken question. "Settlement seems to have had that effect on people."

Kara nodded. "Almost everyone seems to have a baby now, or one on the way. Cally had her little boy just a few months ago, and she's already carrying another. Sometimes I wonder if there isn't something in the water."

The statement, once spoken, struck them both into thoughtful silence. Kara dropped her needle, opened her mouth to say something, and then shook her head sheepishly. "Silly thought." She picked up the needle again, but worried it between her thumb and forefinger instead of continuing to darn the canvas. "Is it?"

This conversation was getting dangerous. "Ridiculous," Laura assured her, all the while wondering if she might have stumbled upon a deeper conspiracy.

* * *

_He tapped her shoulder_. _"Laura, a life lived in fear isn't worth living."_

_She groaned. "Don't use Baltar's presidential platform as a pick-up line. Please."_

"_It wasn't meant to be a pick-up line, although I do regret reminding you of our beloved leader," he replied dryly. "But since we've already slept together, we're technically past the point of using pick-up lines."_

"_I think your logic is skewed."_

"_And I think the fog is adversely affecting your brain. Are you going to charge me with sexual harassment if I try anything, or would you like to start this?"_

"_That's very romantic, Bill. I'm very impressed," she retorted dryly._

_He laughed, and slid his hand under her sweater. Unfortunately, both of his hands at this point were cold, so she told herself that her almost violent reaction was completely justified. _

"_Ow," he wheezed, clutching the part of his chest where her elbow had impacted. "I suppose my hands were a bit cold, but..."_

_She rolled over, grabbed both of his hands in her own, and began rubbing them, trying to improve his circulation. "Honestly, Bill. We're not teenagers groping each other in the back of a movie theatre."_

"_No. We're two consenting adults- we are both consenting, correct?- in a cold tent, on a too-small bed, on a miserable planet. But I will admit that my approach was, perhaps, less than dignified."_

"_Thank you. Your enthusiasm, however, is appreciated." And she kissed him._

* * *

After Kara's comment, Laura began to take a serious look at the community around her, each pregnancy or babe-in-arms striking her as it never had before. If there was something afoot here- and she wasn't quite willing to believe that completely- was it something to do with the planet's natural order of things, or was it something the Cylons had instituted? Or was this just the normal rash of pregnancies common after a shift in a civilization?

It was something to think on. She was relatively sure that her own pregnancy had more to do with her cure jumpstarting her reproductive system (this thought imprinted in her mind a rather unflattering image of jumper cables attached to her ovaries), as opposed to being due to a weird quirk of the planet itself. And as for the Cylons, why would they seek to so-quickly rebuild a race that they nearly blasted out of existence?

Still. She wondered.

Starbuck's new quarters were on the outskirts of the camp, close to the main water source, which was almost a luxury. Kara had never struck her as a woman who knew how to cook beyond basic necessity, and when she entered she found her expectations justified: Anders was definitely the chef in this house. And the building did, in a small way, have the distinction of being a house: two rooms instead of one, which, along with its proximity to water, told Laura that the Cylons were carefully courting the pair, trying to soothe them into submission. They, it seemed, had not underestimated the influence Starbuck still held over the remnants of the fleet.

Kara shot her a warning look when they greeted each other, and made minute gestures toward the walls. The rooms were bugged, then; not entirely unexpected. Laura nodded slightly to show she understood.

"Thank you for inviting me," Laura said. "It's been a while since we took the time to actually sit down together." There: safe, innocuous conversation. She was a veritable master of small talk that never went anywhere; she only hoped she'd have the opportunity to actually speak with Kara later.

The opportunity presented itself rather sooner than she had thought. "Kara, would you mind running out for some water?" Anders asked, seemingly distracted by whatever he had on the small stove.

"I'll go with you," Laura offered, grabbing a bucket near the door, and thinking that the nearness to a water source was not working in her favor at this point; a shorter walk meant less time to discuss anything.

"Thanks." Kara rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't want to hurt the baby," she said, plainly informing Laura that it was a safe topic to discuss indoors.

The first shock of cold air outside was almost like a slap compared to the cozy indoors. If it weren't for the fact that Laura had lived through a spate of days last fall that more resembled the tropics than a subterranean swamp, she would have wondered if the planet ever heated up at all. In a month, maybe two, she'd be hard pressed to explain her bulky attire.

Starbuck walked close beside her, ostensibly for warmth. "We found two bugs the day we moved in," she murmured. "Couldn't destroy them, though, and gods only know how many we didn't find."

Laura laughed, hoping to impart the impression to any watchers that Kara had been telling her some sort of joke. "Is there any way to get a message off planet?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"No." Starbuck shook her head. "No, but they're coming back." _If they made it away_. "They won't leave us here. The Admiral will see to that."

They edged down a steep section of the well-worn path. "Do you need anything?" Kara asked. "Food? Vitamins?" She gave Laura a real smile. "Concealer?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"Not to the casual eye. I have a small hand mirror I can give you- and no, don't ask why I have one," she hurried to add. "It would ruin my tomboyish reputation to say."

Laura smiled slightly. "That would be helpful. Thank you. Now, are you really pregnant, or is it some sort of cover story to help me? Because there are easier ways to get pre-natal vitamins than having someone sneak them to you under false pretenses."

Starbuck laughed. "No, there is definitely something in there," she said, and poked her stomach playfully. "Almost two months, I think. Doc told me when I went in for a check-up." She shot Laura a sideways look. "Does he know?"

"Of course not. We only got our act together the last night he was here." It was a sore point for Laura. Just another example of her own occasional stupidity.

Kara shrugged. "I sort of figured that out a while back; I just wanted confirmation. He was always bunking with the boys when he visited, after all." She looked around; shivered. "What do you think they're going to do?" she asked suddenly, in a quieter tone.

Laura had thought on this herself for quite a while, and had come up with a theory that was as puzzling as it was horrifying. "Let me ask you a question, first: what were they created to do?"

Kara looked confused. "To serve mankind."

"Exactly." She fell silent.

"Wait. You can't just leave it at that. What?"

"Do you remember that speech they made, soon after their arrival?" Laura asked, falling easily into teacher-mode, as they reached the well.

"Yeah. Some shit about them realizing their mistakes and being here to take care of us."

"They're machines, Starbuck. At their most basic level, they're machines. They have come to the realization that what they did was wrong- _human_. Which isn't their nature. So, they're going to attempt to make up for their wrong-doings by providing us with a model of perfection." She set a full bucket at her feet, and waited for Kara to make the connection.

She did, quickly. "Are you trying to tell us that the Cylons are going to _love_ us to death?" She shook her head, unbelieving, and sent her bucket down the well. As she started to haul it back up, muscles straining, she shook her head again. "It doesn't seem plausible."

Laura perched on the lip of the well, hands folded in her lap. "Think about the human conception of love. How we use it, how we manipulate it, how we abuse it. Now, consider: what is the Cylon conception of love?"

Starbuck lost her grip on the rope, and there was a distant splash as the full bucket hit the water. "I think I'm getting a handle on what you are saying," she said slowly, "but explain a little more, if you would."

They met each other's gaze. "The Cylons know what we idealize love to be, in all its forms. But they lack the human capacity to truly understand love… and how to wield it without harming other people. So, in a sense, they very well may 'love us to death', although they will see it as their duty. Like punishing a toddler for being bad- the caregiver realizes the fault, and attempts to teach the child correct habits, all out of love and a sense of devotion." She slumped forward, elbows propped on knees. "The only thing I don't know is how long it will take before any kind of autonomy- other than, say, proper hygiene or the day to day necessities of living- becomes a sin."

Starbuck resumed retrieving her bucket. "So, basically, we've become a bunch of pets."

"Pretty much."

"We… are so screwed."

* * *

_She felt surprisingly domestic as she cooked breakfast for the two of them, while he prepared to leave. It would have been nice, she thought, to have this be normal: go to bed together, wake up together, share their lives past the boundaries of their duties. Nice, but, at this point, completely unattainable._

_"I could always try and sneak you back aboard, you know," he offered, slipping back into his uniform jacket._

_Fresh from bed, it was an attractive idea. "I don't think the president would approve," she pointed out._

_He paused in redoing his buttons. "What do you think he's going to do? Throw rocks at my ship?"_

_Laura snickered appreciatively at the mental image. "I wouldn't put it past him." She handed him a full plate and fork. "I can't leave, though. You know that."_

_He nodded, resigned. "You're the last hope the people have left," he said unexpectedly. "They may not know it yet, but their lives would be emptier without seeing you go about living."_

_She wasn't quite sure how to respond to that. "I'm not their prophet anymore," she reminded him, stabbing idly at what was on her plate with a fork._

_"You don't have to be. But now that they have been here for awhile and the original glow of settling has worn off, they're going to start to think that perhaps the ships weren't so bad after all." He nudged her with his elbow. "And they'll look at you with the children, and remember how well you managed things, and eventually they'll decide to impeach our fair friend. And when that happens, and we all get back up into space, we'll airlock his ass together, just for old times sake."_

_She stared at him, somewhat amazed. "I didn't realize you had this all planned out."_

_"What, you don't?" he asked her._

_She paused, considering him. "Good point. This is really just… a break. A stop-over."_

_"Exactly," he replied with satisfaction, and returned to his breakfast._


	4. With What Eyes?

_With what eyes?_

_ -Sappho_

Isis took her first tottering steps on the same day Laura was informed that she had been granted a home. It was one small square room, relatively near Starbuck and Anders, and more than enough room for any single woman- or even a single woman with a baby. It was, after all, only slightly bigger than her college dorm room had been, and she had shared that with another girl (memories best not dwelled on; she had never had so many sweaters disappear in such a short period of time).

While she waited for the building to be declared safe- and scattered with bugs, she was sure- Laura took stock of her situation. The weather was improving, although trading cold and damp for warm and extremely humid was only an improvement in that it was _different_. A rash of new diseases had begun to spread through their tent city, supplanting the many different ones of spring, fall, and winter- all of which were so close as to be considered one season (winter). It was a temporary reprieve, much like rainy season in the desert.

Now that the temperature was rising, layers were being shed, more every day, until it became obvious that Laura was one of the few people not luxuriating in the heat. She had to head off many anxious questions from parents and citizens alike- was she sick, was she getting enough to eat, was there anything they could do?- and even Cottle had pulled her aside for a quick chat.

"You've lost the game," he had said bluntly. "Continue going around in that get-up and you'll collapse of heat exhaustion."

He was right. Whatever the sweaters were made of- wool, she imagined, or its hideous demon child- they itched like something from Hades and were swelteringly hot. A few more days of the increasing heat and her mild dizzy spells, which came more and more frequently while teaching and lugging water, would grow into something much more serious. She had been backed into a corner by the frakking planet itself, and Laura did not approve.

In the end, someone interceded on her behalf- or rather, the baby's behalf- although it was not the person that Laura expected.

Laura was already in bed, the only time when she dared strip off the confining sweaters and don much cooler clothing. Covered only by a light sheet, her pregnancy was completely obvious, but she simply could not abide with the heat any longer. Let the gods take things into their own hands.

And they did. Her last night in the tent, Six came to call.

"No need to get up," she said cheerfully, ducking through the flap. "You need the rest."

Laura snapped her book shut- a well-worn volume Bill had lent her before the invasion- and dropped it onto the covers. Suspecting that Six knew and knowing for a certainty were turning out to be two very different things; there was a healthy measure of panic bubbling under the surface of her skin.

But if she was nothing else, Laura Roslin was a trooper. "Good evening," she said politely, only letting a hint of her irritation creep through.

Six dropped a bundle of cloth on the bed. "You might need these."

Laura pulled the bundle apart warily, half-expecting a bomb. Instead, she found an assortment of maternity clothing- not new, by any means, but gently worn and in relatively good taste. "Not quite what I expected."

Six shrugged, obviously trying to impart an air of bygones-be-bygones (it wasn't working, and they both knew it). "We've had our issues," she admitted, carefully sidestepping actually talking about those very explosive issues, "but you have been a model citizen in the past few months, Dr. Roslin. And such restraint and patriotism should be rewarded."

Laura couldn't quite find the words to reply to such an outlandish statement. She settled for silently quirking a brow.

Six sighed. Uninvited, she took a seat at the end of the bed. "I am also aware of your motivations in keeping your pregnancy secret. After all, Gaius can be a bit difficult to deal with in the best of situations, and you, quite understandably, have yet to completely trust the new government."

'_But we really have the best of intentions,' _Laura continued, mockingly, in her head.

"But I assure you that our intentions are pure at heart," Six finished, brushing a stray curl away from her face.

Laura toyed with the hem on one of the shirts. "Thank you." _I think_.

"We have every intention of supporting the well-being of the child of two such illustrious people," Six added. "Laura Roslin and William Adama- quite a set of genes. It must be comforting to you that he has left behind such a legacy."

Laura didn't consider it comforting at all, and resented the insinuation that Bill had the need to leave a legacy. He wasn't dead, after all- or at least that was what she greatly hoped- and she knew that if he were alive he wouldn't stop until he had managed to perform the great military feat of rescuing them all.

She tried to arrange her face into a properly bland expression. "He would have been surprised, but… children are a blessing from the gods."

Six's mouth slid into a brief grimace. "You destroyed one of our children," she said softly. "I had great hopes for Sharon's child." She paused, and their eyes locked in the silence. "But I forgive you, Laura." She stood. "We all do."

Laura drummed her fingers absently on the cover of her book. "The gods do not will that all children should survive infancy," she pointed out. "Babies are fragile; even in civilized countries they sometimes die because of little things we can't control."

Six nodded. "This is true, though I think we both know that Hera's death was not natural." She moved toward the door. "But like I said, you are forgiven. We will not visit the sins of the father- or the mother- on the child."

It was her tone, so pitying, so magnanimous, which stunned Laura. Her audacity was almost beyond human capacity to endure.

"Thank you for your visit," Laura finally said, striving for diplomacy. "You've given me a lot to think about."

"Good," Six replied simply. "Good night."

In a way, Laura wished they would just shoot her and spare her the preaching.

* * *

_In the few weeks that had passed since Bill's departure, Laura began to feel… odd. After Baltar's deus ex machina had cured her of the cancer, she had found herself much more strongly attuned to the workings of her body. Whether it was because she had learned not to ignore the small problems, or because something about the cure had revitalized some nerve endings, she wasn't sure._

_When she skipped her menses, she didn't pay too much attention- they had been oddly regular ever since almost dying, but before then she had been on the cusp of menopause, anyway. Her body was probably just restarting the process, though she had yet to experience a hot flash (something that would have been rather welcome, at this point of the year). But when her breasts became tender and she found herself nauseous and tired at odd points of the day, she became worried. _

_Obviously, the cancer was back. She had been granted a reprieve, but it had come to an end._

_She was out early that morning, and as the camp began to stir awake she slipped into Cottle's quarters. He made a gruff comment about unwelcome guests, listened to her concerns, and then said something surprising._

"_But you and Adama are frakking," he stated, more as a clarification of something he already knew than as a question._

"_I fail to see what that would have to do with my current circumstances," she replied, somewhat defensively. _

"_Definitely frakking. Okay." He ignored her attempts to further lead him astray, and handed her what looked to be a basic pregnancy test._

"_I don't need this," she said firmly, after ascertaining that it was what it appeared to be. "I'm past that point of my life."_

"_But you'll be a good girl and rule out the possibility," he told her sharply. "Besides, it will amuse me. And so little does, these days."_

_She muttered something uncomplimentary under her breath, but left to search out a privy._

_She came back ten minutes later, face pale. "It's obviously an error," she said, pacing the limited confines of his tent._

"_Maybe, maybe not. I'd wondered, after you were cured. Your test results were always… interesting." He tossed the test- positive- into a trash bin. _

"_Interesting?" she replied, feeling a tinge of hysteria. "Interesting?!"_

"_Go teach the kids, Laura," he quipped. "You can figure out what to tell papa later."_

* * *

In an interesting mirroring of the day the Cylons appeared, her first stroll through the camp the next morning inspired a wave of stunned silence. As loathe as she was to drop the act, she had finally come to terms with the fact that if all of the Cylons knew, then she might as well let everyone else know and be physically comfortable in the bargain.

Still. The whole affair uncomfortably resembled the collegiate walk of shame.

Starbuck forcefully pushed her way out of the crowd and fell into step next to her. "You look about as thrilled as a cat in a camp of dogs."

"If anyone touches my stomach, I might resort to violence," Laura murmured out of the side of her mouth.

"You won't," Starbuck replied. She patted her own slightly burgeoning belly. "If I can restrain myself with ill-grace, then you can certainly do the same. With flair, even."

Laura sighed.

"By the end of the day they'll have it so you were frakking the Admiral as soon as you were sworn in." Kara looked a bit too gleeful at this. "So, was it the heat?"

"Actually," Laura replied grudgingly, "I was ousted by our new masters. I quote: 'We will not visit the sins of the mother on the child.'"

The glee in Kara's eyes dimmed. "Frak."

Tigh suddenly turned up on Laura's other side, and heard Starbuck's last word. "That certainly sums it up," he muttered.

Laura glanced at him warily. "Good morning, Colonel."

He gave her much the same look. "I thought he looked a bit too happy the last time he came back from visiting."

The three of them stopped, regarding each other cautiously- although Starbuck's caution derived from anxiously awaiting the moment when she would have to smooth over whatever fight they got into.

The silence became an uneasy sort of truce, and Tigh seemed to come to a decision. "He would have been happy. Shocked, but happy."

Laura relaxed, just a bit. "I like to think so."

He nodded once, sharply. "Take care of yourself, Laura." He turned and disappeared back into the eagerly watching crowd.

Starbuck breathed a sigh of relief. _Well, baby, didn't that work out nicely?_ she said silently, absentmindedly rubbing her stomach.

Laura turned to her and sighed. "And now, the only thing left to worry about is answering the inevitable question," she admitted.

"Who's the daddy?" Kara guessed with a grin. "I should think that was pretty obvious."

"No." Laura looked grim. "'Miss Roslin, how are babies made?'"

Kara grabbed a nearby post to support herself as she laughed. "Thank the gods your problems are not my problems. Frak!"

Laura started slightly as the baby kicked, as if in agreement. "My problems are your problems too," she muttered as a reminder, laying her hands briefly over her stomach. She glanced briefly at the crowd, which had yet to dissipate, and remembered childhood visits to the circus. If Starbuck was the lion tamer, then she was probably the freak show.

… _the amazing improbably pregnant woman, right this way, ladies and gentlemen…_

Starbuck caught her glance toward the crowd, and shook her head. "You have to be mean to them," she lectured. "That's my method." With that she lifted her fingers to her mouth, and with a sharp whistle began to efficiently force the crowd to disperse.

It was impressive. Even more impressive was the fact that for the rest of the day, though people still stared, whispered, and did the occasional double take, word had obviously gotten around about Kara's sheepdog routine, and a state close to normalcy resumed.

Except for one small incident right after afternoon recess.

Laura had finally corralled the children back into their seats, all of whom were still energized despite playing an extensive game of tag for the past half hour, when the President of the Colonies (more "the Figurehead of the Colonies," now) burst into the building.

"How in Hades did you manage to hide _that_ for six months?" he asked, looking somewhat better than the last time she had seen him, although still harried and possibly hung-over.

While any deviation from the norm was a cause for excitement among the children, the sight of such an important figure nearly running into the building and daring to track mud onto the floors (it had been established the first day in the new building that Miss Roslin just _would not_ stand for that) was like having every holiday come at once. Any chance of having them remember anything academic that afternoon completely disappeared in the space of a few seconds.

She carefully placed the piece of precious chalk she had been holding onto the table. "Everyone, greet President Baltar."

"Hello, President Baltar," came the willing chorus, each child arranging him or herself into a picture of attentiveness.

"I wasn't aware that you kept up with such things," Laura began, picking the chalk back up again. "But it has been rather cold, as you might recall. We've been bundled up for months, haven't we, children?"

"Yes, Miss Roslin," they chorused, and she turned to the blackboard to write out the math lesson for the afternoon.

"It's very kind of you to visit the classroom," she continued, sketching diagrams and jotting numbers. "Would you like to stay for the rest of the afternoon and observe?"

She turned slightly to catch his expression, and saw the carefully hidden rage underneath his expression.

"No, thank you," he replied, sounding as if he begrudged every word. "But thank you for your hospitality, Dr. Roslin." He turned and nodded toward the crowd of silent children. "Students."

"Goodbye, President Baltar," they cried without prompting, and fell into furious discussion the moment the door had shut.

Laura let them. Better to let them talk out the excitement than ruthlessly- and uselessly- try to squelch them. She would take the time to get off of her feet and ponder the mystery of why her child felt the need to always kick the exact same spot of her abdomen every time. The baby had obviously inherited a healthy amount of determination from both parents.

_As well as Bill's perfect aim_, she thought, amused.


	5. Adaptable

_Their heart grew cold_

_they let their wings down._

_ -Sappho_

Laura's sixth month ended as the first heavy rains of the season began, effectively signaling the end of the heat. A few weeks of warmth, a few of rain, and roughly ten months of drizzle and fog, all telling the colonies one thing: their new home was certainly some sort of cosmic joke. A swampy, muddy joke, which only the gods found funny. Among the adults, tempers rose to alarming heights on an hourly basis, triggered by the smallest disagreement. The children squabbled grouchily amongst each other, disappointed at being forced back into heavy coats and sweaters before they had tired of what few cloudless days they had experienced. Their energy levels, which had peaked during the sunny season, dropped until even the older children needed a nap in the afternoon.

Laura felt especially sluggish, finding herself hating every drudge through the thick mud and rain, morning and afternoon. The slick ground was not forgiving for someone whose center of balance kept shifting, and she dreaded the day that she slipped completely off of her feet. As a small blessing, two of the older boys had decided that it was their job to make sure she no longer had to fetch water. With one bringing it in the morning and the other in the evening, she at least didn't have to risk the path to the nearest well, which could be hazardous even during the dry spell.

Starbuck often showed up at her door in the evenings, out of what seemed to be a mixture of tension with Anders and a sense of duty toward Laura. Either way, Laura liked seeing her, as Kara was so unguarded in some aspects of her personality that it was almost like having a younger, wilder sister show up for a visit. Kara, at least, was guaranteed to make Laura laugh, which was more than she could say for any other person on the planet.

Laura suspected that Starbuck was not used to this kind of friendship: woman-to-woman, without the formalities or hierarchy of the military standing between. Laura, to be truthful, was not very familiar with this kind of relationship either, having spent too much of her time since college involved in her career. She considered it a learning experience.

That particular night, as the rain pounded onto the well-constructed roof, Starbuck seemed especially quiet, hands clasped around the mug of tea Laura had handed her. She wore one of Anders' ragged, military-issue jackets, but managed to look less like a girl playing dress up, and more like what she had been: a captain of the fleet. She had never completely let go of her military bearing, despite the fact that it had been over a year since her last flight.

There was a pad of paper in the middle of the table, and a squat pencil. The top sheet was crammed nearly full of writing, bearing all the things they didn't dare say aloud. Kara picked up the pencil and played with it for a moment, looking hesitant, before finally consigning these words to the page:

_I think this is it_.

She dropped the pencil and withdrew her hand, meeting Laura's gaze.

Out of the two of them, Laura had never expected that Starbuck would be the first admit utter resignation to whatever destiny the Cylons had allotted for them. This was not a scared young woman who sat in front of her, but a soldier, who had analyzed the situation and found no other means of escape.

It was the second time Laura had seen this look on someone's face, and the first time had been with Bill.

_"Do we steal the results of a democratic election or not? That's the decision. Because if we do this, we're criminals. Unindicted, maybe, but criminals just the same."_

She ripped the page off the pad and crumpled it into a ball. After tossing it into the fire, she picked up the pencil.

_Are you sure?_

Starbuck took the pencil from her hand.

_There isn't anything they can do,_ she wrote. _Not with the men they have left. The Cylons have the hostages. The Cylons win._

Laura sat back in her chair and stared into the fire. Finally, she took the pencil back.

_So that's it. We just give it up, just like that_, she wrote, consciously echoing her conversation with Bill, her mind awash in the bitter irony.

Kara read her words, and shrugged, but with a sad smile on her lips that told Laura everything she needed to know.

Laura shook her head, half out of stubbornness and half out of defeat. "All right," she whispered, lacing her fingers protectively over her abdomen, hardly believing that she was having this conversation twice in two years. "All right. All right."

_"We've gone this far, but that's it."_

That's it.

* * *

The next morning dawned much as the day before had: wet, cold, and dark. Laura dragged herself out of bed, slogged through the mud, and soothed fretful children, all the while feeling a bit distant. The hours, instead of slowing, sped up, until all of a sudden it was the end of the school day and the last child was bundled out the door.

The next day was exactly the same. As was the day after that.

But the fourth day dawned without rain, and by the time the children ran out of the school building there were a few small sunbeams creeping through the clouds. One look at the impressive thunderheads told Laura that the rain would be back by midnight at the latest, but a day without the pounding had been enough to draw her out of her hazy fugue.

It seemed that it had a similar effect on the rest of the population: she saw smiles from most people she passed, and in general the strain on many seemed to have temporarily diminished. Laura even found herself singing while she made dinner, alone, and the surprise of it was enough to make her laugh just a little.

Later, after grading a pile of homework, she pulled back her blankets to find a note tucked between her sheets. _I guess I was wrong,_ it said, in Starbuck's distinctive handwriting.

Laura mentally cursed the girl's uncharacteristic brevity, and spent the rest of the night trying to figure out exactly what she meant, wishing she dared hazard the outdoors in the dark.

Hours later, after much tossing and turning and flinging of pillows across the room, Laura gave up on sleep and crossly pulled a book off of a small shelf. The words swam in front of her eyes, and she quickly developed a headache. Abandoning the book, she wished that she had the necessary reconnaissance experience to repay Starbuck's lovely favor.

There was a knock on the door, which further inflamed Laura's ire. She yanked the door open, nearly losing her balance, and opened her mouth to deliver a scathing lecture to whatever poor unfortunate had knocked.

She didn't get a chance. Six, jubilant and ecstatic, swept her into a hug before she could formulate her first words. Laura stood stiffly, uncertain as to how exactly this predicament had come to pass, and wondering if this was just an elaborate ruse to drive a knife into her back.

Six drew away, laughing and flushed.

Laura backed into the room and eyed her warily. "Morning." She glanced at the dim sky outside of her door. _Sort of._

"I underestimated you," Six said, eyes bright. "Even after I warned Gaius not to underestimate you, I did. You are a brilliant woman, Laura Roslin."

A handful of unlikely scenarios flashed through Laura's mind. "It's too early to be vague," she replied, moving to put the table between them. "I'd appreciate an explanation."

"_Hera_," Six breathed. "Hera."

Laura took a seat, overwhelmed. "So."

Six rushed up to the table. "You hid Hera. You've kept her safe for us." She bent to try and catch Laura's distant gaze. "You have done a great service for us."

_For us_.

Laura did not want to hear that she was the newest hero for the Cylons. "You're welcome," she said blankly. "And Maya?"

Six frowned slightly. "What about her?"

Laura raised her head, forcing her mind to clear from the shock. "Will you be taking Hera from _Maya_?"

Six straightened. "Of course. Hera is our child, not hers. She is our _only_ child. Maya is young, healthy. She can bear a child of her own."

This was exactly what Laura was afraid of. "You'll break her heart," she replied softly, trying to reach whatever smidge of humanity resided within Six. "She has raised her since infancy; she is as much her mother as Sharon could have been."

Six retreated to the door, shaking her head. "Children," she stated firmly, glossing over the true issue at heart, "are adaptable."

She slammed the door shut as she left.


	6. Waiting For Orders

_Come to me now: loose me from hard_

_care and all my heart longs_

_to accomplish, accomplish. You_

_ be my ally._

_ -Sappho_

By the time there was light enough for Laura to safely reach Maya's home, the damage had been done. There was a sizable crowd gathered around the small building, and as she forced her way through the mud and returning rain Cottle appeared at the doorway, looking grim. He moved toward Laura through the silent group, and motioned her away from the site.

"She hanged herself," he muttered to her, stopping his movement when the crowd was no longer in earshot. "Old pair of nylons." He stamped his foot into the mud in disgust. "Don't see how we can bury her properly in this swamp."

Laura turned away slightly, eyes focused on a distant mountain range. "What do you suggest, doctor?" she finally replied, as her own personal Furies recited her list of sins and should-haves.

He shot her an odd look. "I'm waiting for your orders."

She looked back at him, startled. "I'm not her next of kin."

He snorted dismissively. "Not what I meant, but now that we're discussing that matter I should mention that you might as well be. I haven't had anyone designate next of kin since we set up camp on this planet." He sighed, annoyed. "No place to put the damn papers. Once the hospital is built, it will be a different story."

She shook her head. "Do what you think best. It will be enough." Numb, she couldn't remember the last time she had seen an actual funeral, at least in its ceremonial sense. Too many times in the past year they had simply done what they could, knowing that while the dead may not care, the living missed whatever comfort they might have derived from the ritual.

"I'm still waiting for your orders," he repeated, moving a step closer and dropping his voice. "We all are."

She caught his gaze. "I'm just a citizen, doctor. There is nothing I can do."

He shook his head. "Not true. When you figure that out, we'll be ready to listen." He turned and walked away.

She considered the dissipating crowd, and the building now empty of life. What were they down to now, 39,000? 38,000? How many deaths besides the ones she had known? How many natural, how many homicides, how many suicides?

She detained a passing teenager, one she knew to be responsible and honest, and sent him with a message that school was canceled for the day. It was time to at least consider the possibility that she might need to step back into the public spotlight: this time, not as the president, but as the leader of an outright rebellion. Her life, she considered, had been an active pawn in this game for several years, easily disposable if the need arose. It was time to decide if her child's life would be given the same regard.

To live and be caged, or to die as a martyr.

The choice was not as clear-cut as she might have once thought. Were it just her, just Laura, she would have stepped forward without hesitation. Bill would have done the same, she knew. They had faced the same kind of decision before, both together and apart, and had always reacted in the same way: sacrifice one for the good of all.

Somehow, her child- their child- made her pause. She had always fought for a woman's right to choose; having been denied the right to choose she might have expected to feel less for the child. It wasn't true. However complicated the baby might have made her life, she knew with a certainty that she loved him or her, and not just because she loved the father.

So why did the thought of making her child a martyr feel like more of a betrayal than abortion could have conceivably been? Wouldn't it be worse to be meek, to give birth to a baby that would grow up in a society that was completely and insanely out of control?

_If our children live, they will hear our stories_, she reasoned, trudging back to her cabin. _But their children, and their children's children, they will never know what we lived through- or why we fled, or what we feared, or what we were. _

She passed Starbuck, and they exchanged nods. _They will believe whatever the Cylons tell them, and then humanity will become their pets and underlings in truth_.

Laura decided, then and there in the mud, that it would be better to be damned for making her child an unwilling sacrifice, than to allow the remainder of humanity to dwindle to a shadow of its formerly vibrant self.

And if she could be damned for that, then the gods would find precious little company in their heavens.

* * *

_The night before Laura was scheduled to depart for New Caprica, she showed up at Bill's door, dressed in an old sweater and pair of slacks, which had languished at the bottom of her wardrobe for the past six months. She held up a bottle of ambrosia as he opened the door, her mouth set in a grim line._

"_Shall we toast the new president, then?" she asked, walking past him into the room toward the table. "To President Baltar. May his reign be long and prosperous."_

_He shut the door, shaking his head. This was going to be a long night. "Careful. Sarcasm may very well be treasonous." He watched the way she moved around the room, noting that now she was inside his quarters, her movements had become almost jerky, infused with helpless rage. He had a feeling that she had been holding in this particular walk for a good while, now._

_She had abandoned the unopened bottle on the table, and he silently decided that if she insisted on wearing holes in his carpet with her insistent pacing, then the least he could do in repayment would be to get her drunk. If he could get her to stop pacing and relax a bit, then he could probably keep her settled. _

_She took the glass he extended to her without comment, and drank its contents back in a single go. She stopped in her pacing, shuddered briefly, and handed him the glass for a refill. _

_Two more doses later and she had kicked off her shoes and dropped, somewhat shakily, onto the couch. She contemplated the forth refill that he silently offered her, and refused it with a shake of her head. _

_She may be a lightweight, he thought, but at least she had the sense when to stop._

"_I hate that planet," she said suddenly. "Did I ever tell you how much I hate walking in the rain? Nothing but rain, down there."_

_She was also a somewhat melancholy drunk._

_He took a seat next to her and slipped an arm behind her back. "You should sleep."_

_She shook her head, leaning into him. "Last night up here, last night with you. It would be a waste of time." She seemed to be inspired by her own words, and without warning moved to sit on his lap. "This whole move is a waste of time," she grumbled, dropping her head onto his shoulder. "We could have made it to Earth, and instead- ha."_

"_We'll still make it," he assured her, half-believing it. "This can't last."_

"_Of course it can," she mumbled. "We're settling on a swamp. It'll suck us into the mire." She huffed a laugh. "What're you going to do, all the way up here?"_

"_Pace," he answered. "Maybe I'll take up meditation. Without you to argue with, I could achieve a higher state of being."_

_She thought about that for a moment, and then started to quiver with helpless laughter. "You're going to become a hermit?" she hiccupped. "Let your hair grow past military regulation and wear a ragged robe?"_

_He shook his head slightly. "Not quite what I meant."_

_She kept laughing. "You should just go planet side and find a mountain top. I'll stay here and… and… do whatever you do with the fleet."_

_The thought of Laura Roslin turning military struck him as absurdly funny. By the time he had stopped laughing, she was almost completely relaxed, a warm weight against him. "Sleep," he said, resting a hand against her hair. "You'll feel better for it in the morning."_

_She sighed in resignation. "I should have taken it," she whispered. "I should have taken the election."_

_"If you had, you would have never forgiven yourself," he replied. "I-"_

"_You wouldn't have forgiven me either," she finished. "I know. I just feel that someday, I'm going to regret it. A lot."_

_He didn't reply, and she didn't seem to expect him to. She fell asleep, and he found himself thinking that at least losing the battle had given them, as a pair, a chance._

_Even if the odds were about as good as finding Earth without a map. _


	7. A Dish Best Served Cold

_Moon has set_

_and Pleiades: middle_

_night, the hour goes by,_

_alone I lie._

_ -Sappho_

Laura had originally thought that the Cylons would keep Hera under close wraps, but the morning after Maya hanged herself found Six touring the camp, Hera on her hip. Baltar walked a few steps behind, looking like a lost puppy.

_Lost a bit of your attention, didn't you?_ Laura thought to herself, finding a seed of dark humor amidst the macabre situation. She choked back her snicker as Six drew closer to where she stood. Six stopped in front of her, seemingly oblivious to the tension that tore the populace apart, her gaze fixed on Hera's quiet face. The child looked confused and more than a little lost. Spotting Laura, she abruptly tried to lunge out of Six's arms toward her.

"Auntie Laur," she implored as Six attempted to restrain her. Not quite two, she seemed to be roughly on the same developmental level as her fully human age mates. Laura expected to see a greater jump in abilities in the next few years, although suspected that the leap could happen as late as puberty. She instinctively reached out to gather the now weeping child close- she had babysat Hera often enough, gods knew- but Six quickly took a step back.

"She'll be fine," Six said somewhat desperately, as if trying to convince herself. "She'll adapt."

Laura raised a brow. Six may be delighted in her newfound acquisition, but she was obviously finding Hera a bit harder to control than she had thought. "She's not even two years old," she replied, a tad dryly. "You've taken her from the woman she considers her mother. Even if you give her an explanation as to why, she still won't understand it." She stepped forward and forcefully took the willing child from Six's arms. "She may be half-Cylon, but that doesn't mean she's anywhere near your level of understanding," Laura finished, ignoring the way Baltar had bolted forward, only to stop a step short of her.

_Weak_, she thought disgustedly, as Hera buried her face in the crook of Laura's neck.

Six looked bewildered as to handle the situation. Laura could practically hear her thoughts: on the one hand, cannot leave miracle child with greatest enemy; on the other, miracle child has stopped crying.

Six's political pragmatism won through, and she visibly steeled herself before untangling Hera's clinging arms from Laura's neck. "It'll be all right," she said, trying to be soothing. "You just need a nap." She shot Laura a look that was almost admiring in its confusion- _how the hell did you get her to stop?_- before walking quickly back to her quarters.

Baltar hesitated in following her, but a sharp comment from Laura ("Don't fall behind, puppy.") was enough to motivate him.

Tigh stepped up beside her as she watched Baltar walk away. "I see you hold him in the same high esteem that I do," he commented, noting her disgruntled look.

She crossed her arms tightly against her chest and hissed quietly, half in response, and half as a commentary on the entire situation (planet, Cylons, frakking election and all).

"Cottle came to talk to me last night," he continued casually as they walked away from the mass of buildings. "He has some ideas about your current… role."

"He's mentioned a few," she replied. "And I've come to the conclusion that _expanding_ on my role-"

Here she slipped in the mud, grabbed his arm, and nearly brought him down with her. Steadied, she continued. "Thank you. It would not be out of the question."

"We would need to hit the non-humanoid Cylons first. They're very much the majority." He had lowered his voice and tilted his head toward hers, and the part of her mind not occupied with considering his suggestion (and it was the same elusive, slippery part that was mostly responsible for her pregnancy) wondered what any observers might be thinking about the picture they were probably making. The Colonel making a move on his best friend's pregnant girlfriend? Shocking.

The pragmatic part of her mind agreed with him, but had also taken note of the practical use of the suggestions imparted by the troublemaking neurons. "Too bad they seem to be oblivious to the wet," she murmured, moving a tad closer to him. Why not encourage the rumors? If people thought they were having an affair (and this thought made Laura want to laugh long and hard at the absurdity, and she suspected Starbuck would react the same way), they would be less likely to think they were plotting mass rebellion.

Meanwhile, he seemed to have come to the same conclusion, because he tucked her arm through his own. "I used to think Bill was just being a gentleman when he took your arm," he said quietly. "But everyone else seemed to think differently- anyway, it would lead them astray."

"No need to explain," she said. "In your experience, what would be the best way to destroy them… quietly."

He shook his head. "It will be all or nothing. They would metabolize poison. They're obviously impervious to rust. Acid might work, but it would be too dangerous to try, even if we could get enough. They've collected most of the guns- not that guns would be enough, anyway."

She scowled slightly. "We know that they can die. This is ridiculous."

"What I wouldn't give for an airlock," he quipped, and shrugged when she glared at him. "It's your trademark."

They had wound their way through camp, and found themselves at the school building. "And now you have young minds to twist to your will," he said, pulling away from her. "Take care."

Despite her better instincts, she found herself feeling a bit more hopeful as she went inside. Her little rebellion had grown from three into four, which was somewhat comforting. She had on her side the three other most powerful people among the common population.

And, she remembered as she stepped into the bustling building, she had the children.

And- no matter how unethical it was- children had oft times been the turning points of history.

* * *

_The first time Bill had visited her on the planet, it had been early in the first rainy season, and she hated everybody. He heated a bucket of water for her so that she could scrub off the grime accumulated after a day trudging in the mud, and then let her pace and rant to her heart's content. Finally, she collapsed onto her bed and curled up, tightly, under the blanket, only the ends of her hair showing._

_"I hate this frakking planet," she groused, her voice muffled. "The weather- oh gods, the weather- we've lost more children to colds and the flu than I can count on two hands, and the gods only know what the planet will throw at us next."_

_He cautiously sat next to her on the bed and patted the lump that he thought was her shoulder._

_"Getting fresh with me, Admiral?" she snapped. "You obviously don't know where you just put your hand."_

_He sighed. He hadn't been able to do anything right since he had arrived. Hopefully, she'd be more used to the entire situation the next time he visited._

_"Do you want me to leave?" he asked, half-wishing she'd say yes so that he could find a fire to warm his bones- and half-wishing she'd say no and do the job for him._

_She burrowed out from under the blanket just enough to look up at him. "I am so envious of you, up on your ship with your central heating and dry halls and quiet rooms."_

_He smirked, slightly. "But isn't the fresh air nice?" he jibed, and she untangled herself to swat at him. He grabbed her hand and kissed it. "Good night, Laura."_

_She huffed and pulled the blankets back over her head. As he left, he heard her bite out a single curse._

_Early the next morning, before school started, she appeared at his temporary lodgings looking apologetic._

_"Forgive me," she said simply, offering him breakfast._

_After a night of bunking with a bunch of bachelors- half of who had been stiff with formality and half who had made sly remarks about his courtship- he was rather annoyed in general, but understanding._

_"I'll be back in a month," he said._

_She smiled, looking closer to happy than she had in a long time. "Thank the gods."_

_He carried that smile with him for the next month._

* * *

Laura held her first war council in her small home, disguising it- rather poorly, she knew- as a casual dinner.

Minus Ellen Tigh, thank the gods. "She's with her friends," Tight announced upon entering. "A very important card game, or so I'm told." He looked vaguely put out, but resigned, leading Laura to believe that if Ellen was with a friend, it wasn't one of the female gender.

She had cooked, alone ("No, Starbuck, you just sit down and rest"), and pads of paper and pencils were scattered on the table along with dishes and silverware. Having served dinner, she sat at the table and looked around at her strange assortment of dinner guests: Starbuck, Tigh, and Cottle.

And her. She thought that she was probably the strangest addition to the lot.

Yet, despite the fact that they were all intelligent people and brought distinctly different perspectives to the table, the few ideas they came up with were considered by all to be completely unworkable, or at the very least downright suicidal. They ended the meeting feeling disappointed, one and all.

_Caprica wasn't built in a day_, Tigh wrote as a parting gesture, and Laura smiled weakly. She had a limited frame of time in which to be useful: in anywhere from a month to a month and a half, she would be giving birth and relatively helpless for a certain amount of time. After that, with her child no longer safely in the womb, the Cylons would have a powerful pawn available to them. A completely helpless pawn.

If that happened… well. She just hoped that she could restrain her homicidal urges until exactly the right time, for maximum impact.

_Revenge is a dish best served cold_, she reminded herself, and went to bed.


	8. Too Damn Easy

_Not one girl I think_

_ who looks on the light of the sun_

w_ill ever_

_ have wisdom_

_ like this._

_ -Sappho_

Ever since Six came to collect Hera, there had been a definite absence of unaccompanied children amidst the populace. Most were kept indoors, even when the rain had granted a short reprieve, and for those who did play, their mothers and fathers stuck close by, crowding them, keeping a wary eye out for any Cylons who might be hunting.

Obviously- amazingly, Laura thought- no one besides her, and her small band of conspirators, knew about Hera's true parentage. The obvious tension on the part of the parents, and the deliberate shepherding of the children out of the general public eye, all served to set the Cylons on edge. They were, she thought, caught in an awkward position: too human to be machines, too computer-based to be human. They had attempted to create perfection, and were failing brilliantly… and quickly.

Soon- within months, even weeks- would come the inevitable turning point, the one that would lead either to bloodbath or an eventually docile human race, or… maybe, hopefully, escape.

There was a problem with the latter possibility: wresting their independence from the Cylons was no guarantee of escape, or even having the ability to contact the fleet. The nebulae surrounding the planet, which had made it seem so useful as a refuge, would work against them in sending a signal. Would they destroy their captors only to be stuck in the mud for an eternity?

Laura didn't particularly like that train of thought, but knew she would have to choose: need or timing. Kill the Cylons, or wait- perhaps hopelessly- for outside help that might never come. Need would win out, even if all they might win would be the freedom to live under their own governing for the remainder of their lives; even if the colony died out generations down the line, completing what the Cylons originally started.

She was operating on a schedule that consisted of only mere weeks. It was a strange parallel to her cancer, and the worry this elicited in her mind seemed to rub off on the parents of the children she taught. Whether they truly thought that she- seemingly indomitable Laura Roslin- feared the Cylons through and through, or whether it resulted solely from the sizeable amount of tension in the camp, she saw the effects in her classroom as, slowly but surely, more and more children were kept at home during the day. Unlike other times in history, when tragedies had grown distant as time passed, the populace seemed to tap into the now-or-never mentality… and ran from it.

Within a week, Laura no longer had any children to teach. As she viewed her empty classroom that particular morning, a single thought leapt to prominence in her mind:

_Chamalla_.

Laura had hated herself on chamalla, and when in withdrawal she would have hated herself even more had she been able to think about it. The paranoia, the hallucinations, even the visions, as useful as they had been, all had served to make her feel like a shambling wreck of a woman; the Kassandra of the fleet. Cottle had taken her off the drug for the second time during her last week with the cancer, and by then the effects couldn't compete with the other war being raged in her body. She hadn't touched it since.

But the Cylons… would chamalla affect them? Would they metabolize it, like poison, or would their bodies adjust to the drug? If their bodies adjusted to the drug, then what would happen if they were taken off of it?

Laura had never particularly thought of herself as some sort of brilliant genius- better not to be one, really, especially after seeing the path genius lead Baltar down- but the epiphany was almost enough for her to lapse into a state of self-satisfied hubris. Even with her self-restraint, she left the school building with a happier countenance than anyone might rightfully expect her to have.

It was an idea. After so long without one, just the concept of a strategy was bolstering.

Cottle, on the other hand, seemed to think the hormones were going straight to her head. She almost had to drag him out of his office in the hospital in order to get him into the open air; in the end, it was the lure of a cigarette that brought him away from a stack of case files nearly as high as his desk.

"No," he stated, unequivocally, "No. Laura, the last thing we need is a bunch of prophetic Cylons running around half-out of their minds. I have no idea what they would do, but it wouldn't be good." The cigarette in his hand remained unlit.

"Time is short," she hissed in reply, pulling her coat a bit closer around her body. "We have precious little of it to act. We cannot still be thinking up the foolproof plan when I go into labor, because I would rather jump into a canyon than allow them access to my child."

He leaned in slightly closer, trying to be intimidating. "Do you even remember yourself on chamalla? And how do you even intend to get it into them? Gods above, where do you intend to find it? Under a rock?"

She resisted the urge to shake him. "Food. Tea. Water. Something. By the gods, make cigarettes out of it and get them to take up smoking. And I know," she continued, grabbing his arm threateningly, "that you still have some."

Somewhere in her impassioned spiel his look had turned from almost hostile to withdrawn. "Smoke?" he muttered, and stared at his still unlit cigarette. "It would be too human for them…"

A sort of despair seemed to creep into his expression. "What?" she asked, leaning in until their foreheads nearly touched.

"Chamalla- the actual plant, not the extract- is exceedingly effective in smoke," he said slowly. "It can be used as an opiate. My supply is not large, but if it were burned, it might effect the Cylons."

The implications of his words struck her, suddenly. "A bonfire?"

"We would never find enough gasmasks," he replied, almost too himself. "Enough for an eighth of the colony, maybe; not even enough for every child or pregnant woman. There would be miscarriages, deaths- the potency would be a near fatal dose for certain parts of the population, if they were close enough and it spread."

"Could we contain the damage?" she asked, a hand pressed protectively to her abdomen. Kick.

He shrugged. "If we picked the right day- no wind, enough drizzle to weigh down the smoke, but not enough that it completely diluted the effects. Or indoors; that would be better. We would need to choose location carefully."

She looked back at the hospital, which was the largest building that had yet been constructed. "Could we lure them? Hold a… a conference?"

He considered the suggestion. "It wouldn't hold all of them, but the majority. Standing room only. They'd suspect something."

"Light the chamalla in the boiler room beneath the surgical amphitheatre," she suggested, remembering the large room that had been set aside for teaching purposes. "The heating ducts travel through the amphitheatre first-"

"-and if the boiler explodes, the steam would carry the drug as well-"

"-and we block off the other vents," she finished, and turned to look at him. He looked vaguely stunned.

"It would still affect the populace," he warned her, glancing at her stomach.

"So would a bomb," she replied. "And frankly, that seems to be the only other solution."

He was silent for a moment. "I'll be over tonight," he said finally. "Round up the other two."

* * *

_Bill once asked her what chamalla had been like._

_"Clarity," she told him. "So much clarity that my mind could not hold it all. Only the gods could understand that kind of clarity without going insane."_

_He looked thoughtful "And the withdrawal?"_

_She shuddered, slightly, remembering her incoherency freakishly well. "The exact opposite," she replied. "I was being torn apart, but it was by forces I couldn't understand. When I was on chamalla I knew why it was destroying me, but could not deal with the understanding; when in withdrawal I understood nothing."_

_"Which was better?"_

_She looked away, hands unconsciously clenched tightly in her lap. "The withdrawal."_

* * *

As soon as Starbuck had finished reading the account of Laura and Cottle's conversation, she had pushed her chair back from the table and began pacing as quickly as possible through the room. Her activity was slightly impeded by the crowded conditions and her own expanded abdomen, but her body language was easy enough to read: _holy frak frak frak oh hades…_

On the surface, Tigh took the information somewhat more calmly. He merely leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling, looking for the entire universe as if he was simply considering what he wanted for dinner. Cottle and Laura merely exchanged grim glances.

Finally, Kara returned to the table and began writing furiously.

_It's too damn easy, but we have no other choices, and the farther along Laura and I get the harder it will be. Give whoever is fit from the fleet a gas mask; find the guns; let them act as snipers. Collect everyone else at the other end of the camp. It'll be as conspicuous as hell._

Tigh read her words, shook his head, and grabbed a pencil.

_They won't gather without good reason. We will need volunteers to act as an inviting council- people they'll listen to._

Starbuck stifled a curse as she read, and slammed her hand down on the paper. She looked over at Laura, every muscle in her face straining to get across the message 'don't you dare'. Cottle had roughly the same look on his face. Tigh simply looked resigned.

Laura had been preparing herself for this sacrifice for weeks, now. She picked up the pencil.

_I will call the meeting. And I,_ she wrote resolutely, _will be there._

Starbuck looked like she was going to burst into tears. She rubbed her hand fiercely over her eyes, and tried not to hyperventilate. With one look at Laura, Cottle knew her mind was made up. He turned to Kara, as a doctor to a patient.

Laura met Tigh's eyes over the table. He jotted a short message, and slid it over to her:

_I'll be there, too._


	9. Thin Lines

_For it is not right in a house of the Muses_

_ that there be lament_

_ this would not become us._

_ -Sappho_

With the schoolroom once again empty the next morning, Laura pulled Tigh away from his work (and his suspicious, philandering wife), and together they went to the new center of the government: Six. Upon hearing that they wished to establish a council to "nurture" Cylon-human relations, she managed to look simultaneously doubting and pleased. Laura was not sure how much of the doubt was actually strain related to caring for Hera, who was at that point heavily asleep on a small couch (knowing the energy level of toddlers, Laura figured it was most likely the sleep of the just).

"We were, perhaps, a tad bit enthusiastic when we immediately came for Hera," Six cautiously allowed. Beside her, Baltar simply looked peeved. "If the populace is willing to work towards a better understanding with us, then we have no choice but to accept."

"No!" Baltar said firmly. "The entire idea is out of the question. What good could such a council do? The population will adjust in time, naturally."

"The population lives in fear that their children will be taken," Tigh retorted. "We cannot foster a thriving community if parents forcibly keep their children indoors, amidst only their families. Rampant paranoia and suspicion do not create successful governments."

Six nodded in agreement. "Gaius, it's much too dangerous to keep people in a state of fear," she lectured him mildly. "Until our little… indiscretion," she continued, and glanced quickly at Hera, "the populace was well on its way to being useful."

_Useful?_ Laura wondered. _Useful as what? Breeders?_

Six turned back to Laura and Tigh. "You have the full backing of the government," she said officially. "A week from today at noon, in the hospital. It will be a tight fit," she said ruefully, "but we can hardly expect cooperation by holding it outdoors." She gave Laura a piercing look. "We thank you for your suggestion, Dr. Roslin, Colonel Tigh."

And that was it.

"Too easy," Tigh muttered as soon as they were far enough away, having once again taken her arm.

"We hardly have a choice," she replied quietly, in agreement. "She may suspect something, but probably more along the lines of a bomb or assassins. Not a boiler explosion."

He shook his head slightly. "We are going to have to recruit other people to act as our council," he continued. "We can't afford to tell them the true purpose."

"We aim to save the majority," she said softly. "In times of desperation, the many take precedence over the few." Her words had a rote quality to them; she had been telling herself the same thing ever since she had been inducted into the office of president.

"If Bill finds out I let you attend in your state, he'll put me out the airlock," Tigh muttered.

"You're going to be there too," she reminded him tartly, jabbing her elbow into his side. He grimaced. "He'll just have to be furious at both of us," she said, and bit her lip. Finally, she admitted, "I don't want Kara there."

"Neither do I," he replied, and she sighed, relieved. "She'll fight us every inch of the way, but-"

"We need her with the civilians," she finished. "We'll make her stay indoors a day or two before the meeting- a possible complication in the pregnancy, bed rest, etcetera. If we fail and are found out… well, we would need someone on the outside."

"She won't like it, but she'll do her duty," he agreed. "As for the rest of the council… Tyrol. A portion of the union; both the pacifists and the troublemakers. A random assortment."

She nodded. "A teacher or two besides me. And as many able men as possible to pull off the operation itself."

"I know enough trustworthy men," he assured her. "If they know Starbuck is going along with it, they'll work with us."

"It's the Cylons not at the meeting that I worry about," she pondered aloud. "If they find out what happens before they are taken care of, they might begin rampaging."

"Anything is a possibility."

Laura was beginning to think that staging a revolution was only separated from insanity by a very thin line. But then again, she could say the same about her decision to take chamalla, her decision to allow Hera life, and maybe even her decision to enter into a relationship with William Adama.

More than ever, life had been reduced to a series of seemingly insane decisions, one after another. She just hoped that the revolution ended up being one she wouldn't regret.

* * *

_"I miss your quarters," she confessed the next time she saw him, as they sat in her tent after dinner. "I always felt more comfortable there than in my own."_

_He looked smug. "I always thought you liked snooping through my things when you thought I wasn't around."_

_She snorted, and immediately felt gawky and undignified. "Actually, I think it was the couch," she replied. "And the books on the floor. I never had enough shelves at any point of my life."_

_"Me neither," he admitted, as a gust of wind battered the walls of her tent._

_She glanced at the canvas in disgust, noticing that it had sprung another small leak. "Of course, on Galactica, you never had to worry about floods," she muttered, grabbing a spare piece of canvas- noticing as she did so that she was running out, an unpleasant thought- and a sewing kit, and moved to patch the hole._

_He came up behind her and removed the items from her hands. "Your patching skills leave something to be desired," he told her dryly, nodding toward some of her previous efforts. "I suppose that isn't something they teach the president."_

_"Or the Secretary of Education," she agreed, staying as close to his side as possible without getting in his way. For one, she was glad for an extra source of heat; for another, she took pleasure in his close presence._

_He finished in a matter of minutes, and turned his head a little bit, enough to meet her gaze. She shrugged, and said, "Observing the master at work."_

_He smiled; although it was not the happiest smile she had ever seen him give. "I'll get you out of here eventually, you know."_

_She grinned. "Oh, you'd better, Admiral. I'm counting on it."_

* * *

Two days later, Cottle finally showed his three confederates the remainder of his chamalla stash. The dried leaves and flowers, crumbled to pieces, filled to the brim a small box that was only a foot square. Laura, quite frankly, doubted that there was enough of the foliage to incapacitate an entire amphitheatre of human people, let alone the genetically superior Cylons, and she told him so on paper.

He snorted, and replied:

_I suppose I could have given you some straight chamalla to smoke during your days as a druggie, but I was under the impression you wanted to be relatively sane, not a raving lunatic or comatose._

He carefully took a small pinch of the crumbling leaves between his thumb and index finger.

_This is enough to knock out a grown man for a day_, he wrote. _We just want them addled for as long as it takes to shoot them all down._

Starbuck- who was still immensely put out about being told that she would not be anywhere near the conference- took a step back from the box, her expression one of wary respect.

_How much was Laura on? _she asked.

Cottle shrugged, slightly, and carefully replaced the small amount he had taken, and closed the box. _A twentieth of that, maybe, at the height of her consumption._

_Frak_, Laura thought. _I was getting off easy. _

Not a pleasant thought, especially since she would be exposing herself to a much higher concentration at roughly seven and a half months pregnant. Assuming she survived this, and she ever saw Bill again, she was practically guaranteed a few unkind words. She rather wondered if their relationship could survive her actions, really: putting herself into danger, he could understand; knowingly going into a situation practically guaranteed to take their child would be harder. And the gods knew that she would never be able to keep the pregnancy a secret in itself; even if she survived the chamalla and a miscarriage, someone would eventually let slip that there _had been_ a miscarriage, and that would be the end of her subterfuge.

_The many take precedence over the few_, she reminded herself silently. _The many take precedence over the few_.

She was having a hard time believing her own mantra.

Cottle had replaced the box in its original location, locked in a cabinet with other potentially dangerous medications. Not, he had admitted earlier, the most secure place, but there was a certain value to hiding it under the Cylons' own noses.

They stood together for a long moment, exchanging grim looks, before going their separate ways: Laura, to the schoolhouse, where the only student to return awaited her; Cottle to his patients; Tigh and Starbuck to covertly recruit snipers.

Laura suspected that they would have the most interesting day out of the group.

* * *

Starbuck burst into Laura's home that night (pregnancy had barely quelled Kara's dramatic physical tendencies), deck of cards in one hand and a disgruntled expression on her face.

"Sammy is driving me crazy," she muttered, tossing her scarves and coat on an extra chair. "Always out playing with the boys in the rain; never thinking about his health."

"Is he sick again?" Laura asked, pushing her book aside.

"Not yet," Starbuck groused. "But it's only a matter of time." Her manner of shuffling and cutting the cards was almost violent in nature. "Be the second time this year, not counting his bad bout of pneumonia when the Cylons arrived."

"He's a boy," Laura replied blandly, more worried than her tone let on. "But don't let the stress bother you. It's bad for the baby."

Kara huffed a disgusted sigh, and scribbled something on the back of a joker card.

_We have our men_, it said. _Sammy insisted on joining them_.

Ahh, Laura thought. The real root of Starbuck's tension had been revealed.

And, while on the topic of the baby…

"How are you feeling?" Laura asked, a bit more insistently, adding a few words beneath Kara's message: _You know what to do_.

"A bit odd, actually," Starbuck replied, flipping the card they had used into the flames. "You're probably right, that it's the stress."

"Just keep an eye on it," Laura replied, and nodded in approval. Another piece of groundwork had been set; all that was left was to expand and conquer.

Or, alternatively, be violently subdued. Just another example of Laura's theory concerning thin lines.


	10. Memory of You

_Dead you will lie and never memory of you_

_will there be nor desire into the aftertime—for you do not_

_ share in the roses_

_of Pieria, but invisible too in Hades' house_

_you will go your way among dim shapes. Having been breathed out._

_ -Sappho_

It was a quiet night, normal but for the barely noticeable undercurrent of anticipation that flared in various points of the camp, mainly among the younger men who had been designated as snipers. Laura hadn't seen Starbuck since the morning, and figured that she had simply decided to spend the last quiet night with her husband… and if that helped with her cover story, than all for the better. Kara had been rather uncharacteristically quiet for the past few days, spending less time among her hordes of acquaintances and more with Anders, who- Laura had noted- looked a bit peaked again.

As for Laura, she spent that night alone, silent, mentally cataloguing every kick and flutter from her womb. There was a good chance that this might be her last uninterrupted stretch of time with the baby. If all went to plan, she expected that at best she would be unconscious for several days, and when she woke up there might no longer be many reminders of her pregnancy. Stretch marks, she expected, a cesarean scar and aching breasts. That would be about it.

And she thought that hurt the most out of the situation; she had convinced herself that sacrifice was necessary, but the idea of surviving and never seeing even the body of the child she had sheltered for almost eight months was painful and raw.

She might live through this attack, but she was no longer sure she would be the same Laura Roslin afterward. Compared to her other expected loss, she thought the loss of her spirit a rather paltry sacrifice.

* * *

When Laura arrived at the hospital on the promised day, roughly a half hour before the hoped-for coup, she knew very little of what had or had not been accomplished in furthering their plan. While the four members of her group trusted each member, they nevertheless were wary of being together too often, or going where they were not usually expected. For Laura, this meant that the hospital boiler room was off-limits, as was speaking with Starbuck's group of comrades from the fleet. For all she knew, nothing was set up at all.

It was better not to know, she tried to tell herself. If she wasn't positive that the boiler would explode, or the vents were blocked, or the chamalla would burn… well, theoretically, anyway, she wouldn't be expecting it when it did happen.

So she prepared herself, not for revolution, but for debate. She went through the entire ritual of ripping her point cards, and for an extra bit of luck, snapped a pencil in two. It was, perhaps, the first time in her life she didn't get the giggles beforehand. She felt as prepared as she could conceivably be for this kind of situation.

This didn't stop her from praying ardently from the moment she rose that morning to the moment Six officially opened the conference. After that, all she could remember were her discussion points.

And how much she hated Gaius Baltar for being a smug son of a bitch. After listening to his sly comments about her relations with the military (with very badly disguised innuendo) and his coaxingly phrased words to Six concerning civilian freedom, Laura was about ready to snap his neck with her bare hands.

Unfortunately, that wouldn't be considered very diplomatic. She settled on hoping that the boiler would explode, instead, but then that brought to mind not only her own coming loss, but also the potential fates of the other humans in the room. Tyrol, with a son and another child on the way, and other members of the union in the same situation; people she had led and lived with for two years now. She was setting them up for possible death or injury, and even the fact that she had thrown herself in with them wasn't enough to offset her guilt.

"Perhaps we should consider the issue of religious rights," the moderator, a Valerii look-a-like, offered as the conversation over raising the union minimum became heated. "Specifically, should New Caprica adopt one official religion, or continue to worship as each faction wills?"

Baltar was on his feet before Laura could even shift her weight to stand- though frankly, he could have moved quite a bit slower and still beat her to the punch at this point. "It is critical to the survival of the colony that we all embrace the same religion," he began in his usual tone of smug condescension. "It would reinforce the feeling of community, of family. And as I, myself, have long believed in the one god revered by the Cylons-"

The union representatives present interrupted him with a rapid stream of dissension, some of it vulgar. Laura silently blessed their forthrightness as she slowly stood with Tigh's help. Seeing her rise, they grew silent, something she considered a further blessing. Baltar took in the show of public approval with ill grace, turning to the moderator to appeal to her bias.

Laura spoke before he could sufficiently make his case. "Mr. President, fellow members of the colony, I would like to remind you that the cornerstone of our government has always been religious freedom; whether that be for many gods, one god, or no deity at all. There is no reason that we should abandon our ancient practice of allowing various worship practices."

"Dr. Roslin, you have not considered the situation," Baltar retorted. "We are no longer under the old government. The new government is lenient and merciful, yes, but devout to one supreme being."

"This new government can make no claim on being merciful if it forces the public to worship as one group wills," Laura argued, and heard, as if from a long distance, a strange popping sound. Six and a handful of the other Cylons seemed to have heard it as well; they looked around, attentive, but seemed to think it was no more than a minor incident in the camp. She continued, hoping to further distract. "A government should always be wary of a population which it has forced into a corner. Generally, spiritual traditions are the most closely loved and guarded by individuals- if not handled wisely, the population will fall into anarchy. We have seen this time and time again in our history annals," she argued.

A definite haze was beginning to gather along the ceiling, though few people seemed to have noticed it besides Laura and Tigh. Sensing that she would really want to be sitting when the full effect of the drug hit, she reluctantly handed the floor to Baltar and took her seat.

"Dr. Roslin, I notice, is not mentioning the many times in history a country has been torn apart by so-called religious freedom," he said. "A population with too many religions is irrevocably divided; eventually one or more factions will decide they hold the truth, and war is the inevitable outcome. Perhaps-"

He paused, swaying slightly. Laura was beginning to feel a definite effect from the drug as her vision began to narrow. She had moments, maybe, before she lost consciousness.

As far as she could tell- which was little, by this point, because the drug worked far quicker than she remembered- everyone else in the room appeared to be affected in some way. Even the Cylons- humanoid and Centurion, the latter having been a lucky guess as to the effect- looked somewhat woozy, and the look on Six's face bespoke untold amounts of trouble if she ever found out who was responsible (and judging by the way she blearily glanced at Laura, she already had a clue).

_Well_, Laura thought hazily in the last moment between consciousness and unconsciousness, feeling her body list slightly toward the right, _at least we were right about the chamalla_.

* * *

_She shifted slightly, still feeling the delicious haze of post-coital aftershocks, half under him with his face tucked into her neck. His mustache tickled not unpleasantly against her skin; every part of her feeling pleasantly slicked with sweat despite the cold, damp air outside the covers._

_"Frak long courtships," Bill mumbled against her neck. "This is ridiculous." He wound a hand into her tangled hair and lifted his head enough so that she could see his mock leer. "I should have made my move when we had more than a cot."_

_"Such as your couch?"_

_"Naturally." He sighed a tad bit dramatically, and lowered his head. "I suppose this will have to do."_

_"Careful, Bill," she replied dryly, looping her right arm around his neck. "Or you'll be bunking with the bachelors again."_

_"I'd be received as a hero," he teased. "They'd worship at my feet."_

_"I'm so close to kicking you out."_

_"You'd lose the extra heat," he reminded her, attempting to comb out some of her tangles._

_"Point taken." She winced as he hit a snag. "Be careful."_

_He curbed his enthusiasm, and moved his hand from her hair to cup her cheek. "Better?"_

_"Much," she replied, enjoying the rasp of his calloused thumb sliding over the skin of her cheekbone. "You should stay for another day."_

_"I would, and I would tell you to cancel school-"_

_She gave his shoulder a playful slap._

_"-but," he continued, "all that we would garner from that would be Mr. President bursting into your tent at the worst possible moment."_

_"He does have a way for knowing exactly when he isn't wanted," Laura agreed. "Although more so before the election than now. Never could figure out who was his rat."_

_"Probably someone who died when the Cloud 9 exploded." He gathered her closer and shifted so that she was now sprawled on top. "Better for my back," he explained when she gave him a questioning glance. "You're frakking an old man, after all."_

_Her giggle turned into a yawn. "That's very interesting, because just a short time ago I was under a completely different impression as to your age." She kissed his shoulder, enjoying the way his arms tightened around her. "Next time… come on a weekend."_

_"So say we all," he agreed, stroking her back. "Don't fall asleep; you're due in the school room in just an hour."_

_She yawned again. "True." She propped herself up on her elbows, trying to avoid placing too much weight on his chest, and glanced around the interior of the tent. "Bill…" she began, "how would you like to earn my eternal and unconditional devotion?"_

_"I thought I already had that."_

"_And if you want to keep it, you'll brave the cold and bring me my clothes."_

_He grunted and pushed her off of him, throwing the blankets on top of her as he stood. "Frak!" he hissed as soon as he shed the blankets, and muttered, "The things I do for love…"_

_She untangled herself from the pile of blankets as he tossed her a sweater, beaming at him. "Always the gentleman," she commented as he hurriedly pulled on his own clothes. _

"_And look where it gets me," he replied rhetorically, handing her the rest of her clothes. "On a freezing planet without hot water." He grabbed her when she finally got up, having pulled on a pair of pants underneath the covers. "But you are my favorite shrew."_

"_Good," she retorted playfully, leaning into him. "Although I am sure that Ellen Tigh feels the loss." She wriggled free just enough to grab her hairbrush, offering it to him with a smile. "Brush my hair and I'll make you breakfast."_

"_You strike a hard bargain," he replied, "but I accept."_

_Later, after breakfast and escorting him to his ship, he kissed her hand in public- practically an offer of marriage, given his stoic public image- and told her, "When we finally all get back into the sky, I want you to live with me."_

_She squeezed his hand, and with a bittersweet smile replied, "So say we all."_

_She had never hated the sight of his departure more than she did that day. _


	11. Cloudy Skies and Shooting Stars

_Someone will remember us_

_I say_

_even in another time._

_-Sappho_

_She was on Galactica, standing in the middle of a barren hallway, many of the lights either flickering or already burned out. She turned slowly in a circle, staring at her surroundings, and then glanced down at herself. A stomach that barely curved met her eyes, displaying only the usual effects of time and not the biological effect of pregnancy._

_A single set of footsteps resounded in the distance as she felt the first tears gathering; she impatiently pushed them away and headed toward the sound, feeling inhumanly light, her feet barely meeting the metal floor but registering coolness. She stopped and looked down- bare feet and the rolled up, tattered cuffs of the pants she'd been wearing for most of her time on New Caprica. She wiggled her toes against the cool metal, noticing the polish that decorated the nails, something that she hadn't done since before the nuclear holocaust._

_The set of footsteps drew closer and rounded the corner as she looked back up. Bill- worried and with a healthy amount of scruff covering his face- walked steadfastly past her toward the flight deck, looking neither left nor right but straight ahead._

_She turned to watch him pass, and her surroundings melted into the surgical amphitheatre. It was a wreckage of motionless and tangled bodies, slumped over the risers and chairs. Six lay near one of the doors, a gun still grasped in her hand, looking as if she had dragged herself there before succumbing to the drug and the concentric circle of bullet holes in her back. Other bodies were scattered amidst the humanoid Cylons and Centurions: Tyrol and Gaeta, others from the union and Baltar's cabinet._

_She walked to the door nearest to Six, delicately stepping around the scattered bodies, noting each victim in her mind as she passed. She paused at Six, examining her glassy eyes, and continued on, through the now much-battered halls and finally out the main door._

_Bare, churned up mud and the wreckage of several buildings and tents met her eyes. A body lay half-submerged in the mud near her, gun in hand and a gas-mask hung around his neck: Anders. She turned away from him, focusing on the feel of her feet buried in the mud and the cold wind prickling against her arms. She looked up: stars and a light veil of clouds._

_The cloudy sky drew closer and closer, until it was all she saw._

* * *

Laura dredged herself out of the fog that accompanies incredibly deep sleep, only to be met with a troubling question from Doc Cottle.

"You want the good news or bad news first?" he asked her, making a notation on a clipboard. "I'm giving you a choice because you, Laura, are for some insane reason favored by the gods."

She blinked a few times, feeling unusually heavy and not at all ready to be confronted with whatever reality they had created. "Dunno," she finally said in a low rasp, sliding her eyes back shut. "What…?"

She felt a gentle poke in the middle of her abdomen, and opened her eyes to realize that there was still a noticeable bump rising from her midsection. Cottle held a pencil in one hand, the eraser pointed toward her stomach. "Stubborn kid," he said, meeting her eyes. "Tests come back good, too, so if something is wrong we won't know till the birth." He shrugged and put the clipboard down on a nearby table- one of hers. She looked around as best she could, feeling too weak to sit.

He noticed her gaze. "Hospital's not a pretty sight right now," he informed her. "There's still too much of the drug lingering in various sections; plus it's a bit… drafty."

Her mind seemed to be coming back to her, bit by bit. "Bullet holes?" she guessed, the image floating up into her vision, feeling too shocked to comment on her still present pregnancy. Surely this was a remnant of the chamalla playing with her mind.

He smiled slightly. "Yep. The Cylon population has been severely diminished, although not wiped out completely- some of them have vanished into thin air. Probably planning their next attack. But almost all of the ones present at the meeting have been dealt with." He moved to the counter, where what looked like several bottles of medications were resting.

"What about human fatalities?" she asked, feeling a stir of life within her and, suddenly, a sharp kick. She drew in a quick breath, trying to fight back the oncoming flood of hormone induced tears.

He kept his back to her as he messed with the bottles, perhaps knowing how her hormones were affecting her. "About half of the humans present at the conference; more from the ensuing chaos than reactions to the chamalla. When the snipers burst in, the Cylons were still a bit too active to take down easily. Some of the bullets went astray." He turned back around and ignored her tears, handing her a cup of water and a few pills. "Extra vitamins. Tyrol is the reason you're still alive; when you began to fall out of your chair he managed to take most of the impact. When a few of the Cylons started shooting- and they did, although their aim was dreadfully off- he took a few bullets for you."

He cut off his story, noticing that she was becoming rapidly overwhelmed. "You can hear the rest later," he finished, helping her take the pills. "They'll be telling this story for years. You aren't missing anything."

She managed to roll herself onto her right side, facing the wall, and let herself mourn: for Tyrol and his grieving family, for those who had fallen in the hospital and outside of it. The baby kicked again, stirring as if anxious at her tears.

She quickly fell asleep, her pillow damp.

* * *

It was three more days before Cottle allowed her to be on her feet for more than a minute or two at a time, and by then Laura had gathered that not only had the remainder of the fleet been pressed back into active duty- something they didn't mind in the slightest, given the situation- but there was a constant guard monitoring her small home from all angles. Cottle had outright laughed at her when she suggested that they might have better things to do.

"Like anyone listens to Baltar anymore," he retorted rather cheerfully. "Everyone knows that you had a lot to do with the insurrection, and more over, everyone knows that you are back in charge. Even if they wanted him, he's a raving lunatic now anyway." He paused to consider his words. "Well, let me restate that: now it is _obvious_ that he is a raving lunatic." He swirled a finger in the air next to his ear. "Apparently the chamalla was a bit too much for him. I've nearly given up trying to pinpoint its effects on you."

She pushed herself up to a sitting position- not exactly the easy task it had been six or so months ago- and piled the pillows behind her back. "Has he said anything?"

"All he talks about are cloudy skies and shooting stars." Cottle shrugged. "Why? Have you been having visions again?"

"I thought I did before I woke up," she replied slowly, running her fingers over the weave of her blankets. "I saw Bill… and the amphitheatre. And Anders."

He shook his head sadly. "His constitution was too weak for this planet. But he went down honorably, in the line of duty. Not that Starbuck is taking it well."

"Of course not," Laura said curtly. "She's pregnant, he was her husband. How is she?"

"A frakking hermit," Cottle huffed. "I stop in to see her a few times a day, and she seems to be taking care of herself, but she spends most of her time sleeping."

Laura nodded. "I'm going to visit her," she stated firmly, maneuvering herself to the edge of the bed. "You can't stop me, either."

"I wasn't intending to," he replied, shutting his bag. "You could use some fresh air, and the worship will do you good."

She paused in her slow walk to the cabinet with her clothes. "…Worship?"

"The people think you're some kind of frakking fertility goddess of war. Every pregnant woman will come for your blessing, and every barren woman and childless husband will throw themselves at your feet. Have fun!" He left, chortling evilly.

"Holy frak," she muttered, exchanging her nightgown for pants and a thick sweater. "I'll never get anywhere near the girl." Once dressed, an act that took quite a while, she walked out the door hoping she wouldn't be bombarded.

She might have been- the crowd was rather large- but the four guards attached to her home exuded enough authority that there was a good ten feet between her doorstep and when the crowd began. She pondered the situation for a moment as the murmuring of the crowd increased, wondering if the guards would automatically come with her or if she would have to request their presence, when her problem was solved for her. Tigh- blessedly uninjured Tigh, who Cottle had released the day before (upon Laura asking why he had been released earlier, Cottle had impertinently replied that Tigh wasn't "pregnant, like some people I could mention")- stepped out of the crowd.

"I've come to play the gentleman," he told her as he approached. "Cottle said you'd try to pull something like this today."

Laura couldn't decide if being predictable was her blessing or her curse, but she allowed him to take her arm anyway. "Glad to see you made it through in one piece," she whispered as the crowd parted, stoically ignoring the few hands that reached out to brush against her stomach.

"Funny about that," he replied, elbowing a particularly persistent man aside, "but apparently, compared to you I'm not that important of a target. Or as large of one."

She grimaced. "Thank you."

"A pleasure. You may be interested in knowing that some of the men have spent the better part of the past five days trying to contact the fleet."

"And?"

He quirked a grim smile. "They aren't in range. Or they're caught up in the soup."

"He wouldn't give up," she murmured. "He'll be here sooner or later."

"Are you going to run into his arms or read him a lecture on taking too long?"

"I haven't decided yet," she replied with a small smile. "What's your theory?"

"I think that they're severely understaffed and looking desperately for some way to save us without the Cylons taking notice and attacking either the fleet or the colonists." He shrugged minutely. "Coming back to be immediately blown out of the sky wouldn't help us, nor would coming back and finding that our captors had destroyed us in a fit of pique."

"And we'll just be sitting here… waiting." She sighed. "I can't help but be rather frustrated."

"He has his moments," Tigh agreed as they reached Starbuck's door, "but he's pretty good at making up for them."

She grasped the doorknob. "I'll probably lecture him first," she informed Tigh, opening the door, "and then he can beg."

She stepped inside the dim interior, eyes taking a moment to focus as she tried to find Starbuck.

"Kara?"

There was a rustle in the other room, she followed the sound carefully, trying to avoid whatever might be scattered around the first room. Kara sat up as she entered, wearing what looked like one of Anders' old tanks, her hair a tangled mess around her face.

"Laura," she said. "I'm glad you're okay." Her words sounded hollow, forced. Laura sat next to her on the bed, noting that for all of her grief Kara was clean and appeared to have eaten sometime in the last twenty-four hours. At least she wasn't starving herself.

"And you and the baby?" Laura asked, taking Starbuck's hand.

Kara sniffed. "We're fine. He would have wanted that."

"Yes, he would have." Laura wiped a few tears away from Kara's cheeks. "Are you hungry?"

"Nah. I ate a few hours ago. I keep telling myself that I need to get outside," she admitted somewhat sheepishly, in a voice cracked from strain, brushing some hair away from her face, "I'm neglecting my duties, but I'm… tired."

"You're in mourning," Laura said firmly. "You're not being neglectful, or a coward, or a bad citizen. You were a major part of this operation and you have experienced loss, and your duty right now is to take care of yourself and your child."

Kara let out a jagged sob. "But I can't… I don't know how to be anything but a soldier; I don't know how to care for this child-"

"Neither do I," Laura replied, and cautiously slid an arm around Starbuck's shoulders, unsure of how she would react. "But I have every faith that you will figure it out, and I will too. And you're not going into this alone, because no matter what happens I'll be right beside you."

Starbuck gave a teary laugh. "Our kids will have play dates. We can take up knitting." She leaned more closely into Laura's hold, dropping her head on her shoulder. "We can match make them in the cradle," she muttered. "Start a new frakking legacy."

Laura wondered if Starbuck realized her double entendre, and figured that she probably had. "What if it's not a boy and a girl?" she asked, somewhat dryly.

"That's only a problem with reproduction." Starbuck sniffled again, placing a hand firmly over her own abdomen. "I just want them to be friends."

"With their genes, they'll be getting into a lot of trouble." Laura smiled at the image. "The tricksters for their generation."

"Yeah, that's what you get when you mix the government and the military," Starbuck quipped. She pulled away slightly and dried her eyes, now red and puffy from use. "Thank you."

"Nothing to thank me for," Laura demurred. "Come on. You need some fresh air." Starbuck nodded and slowly dressed in warmer attire.

Hand in hand, Laura tugged her out the door.


	12. Hammers and Cults

_Some men say an army of horse and some men say an army on foot_

_and some men say an army of ships is the most beautiful thing_

_on the black earth. But I say it is_

_ what you love._

_ -Sappho_

"Too many clouds. They cover the sky, obscure the stars, the stars hide the message."

Laura took a step back from the bed in front of her, and cast a questioning look at Cottle. He shrugged, casting his hands up in the universal gesture of _don't-ask-me_. She turned back to the man in front of her, who had his hands pressed against the window, tracing a pattern she couldn't discern.

"See how the stars fall, one by one," Gaius Baltar rambled, trailing his fingers down the glass through the condensation. "You need to see the stars; but the clouds are there, and the clouds won't let you." He rocked back onto his heels and stared at his hands. "What have these hands done, dipped in newly slain blood?"

Laura was pretty sure that Cottle snorted in derision behind her. "Why are the stars important?" she asked, trying to keep her distance. He didn't seem threatening; but then, that was what the populace had thought when they first elected him. Nor did he seem to be making much sense, but she herself had had first-hand experience with chamalla visions… and it was so very uncomfortably neat that he was the only survivor who was experiencing long-term effects.

He looked up from his hands, a few locks of hair escaping from the short tail one of the nurses had arranged. "The lord archer comes, with the stars," he told her seriously. "The golden bow is cocked, the mystic prophet waits his time."

"Apollo?" she murmured, looking back at Cottle.

He considered the suggestion. "The stars- the fleet?"

"But who is the prophet?" she wondered aloud.

Baltar had returned to the glass, his right index finger shaping what looked like a face. "She's left me, she who promised the world and the stars and the child. The child, the queen of the gods, the wife of the prophet, the fertile hybrid." He pulled his knees up to his chest, his voice lowering. "The clouds cover the sky, and the stars fall…"

Laura and Cottle left the room quietly.

"Hera," she commented quietly, and he nodded in agreement.

"I suppose, then," he said in reply, "we need to find out who the prophet is. That is, if you believe him."

She rubbed her stomach as she thought, wishing she could ease the itch of the stretched skin. "No one else has displayed the effects. He could be simply insane, or he could be insane for a higher purpose." She grimaced. "Much as it grieves me to concede that he has a higher purpose. But we would do best not to leak his ramblings; if the people hear about falling stars they might get their hopes up."

"Their hopes are already up," he retorted, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket and waving it gently at her. "Last one. Rub that lotion I gave you on your stomach and it will help with the itch. I need to go check on Cally and the boy."

Laura winced, remembering Tyrol, but still asked, "And Baltar?"

"Frankly, Madame President- and don't pull that quorum shit with me- I don't give a damn."

* * *

_"So," she said one night, sometime between the first debate and the actual election, "Gaius Baltar- insane or sane. Discuss." She said it with a tone of such total disgust that he already knew what side of the debate she fell in with- not that he hadn't known before._

_And funnily enough, it was the same side he stood on. "Insane. Dr. Baltar routinely exhibits a disregard for anyone but himself - why are you laughing?" he asked suddenly, a glimmer of hidden amusement in his eyes._

_"Because you sound like a frakking shrink," she replied, giggling. "Did you take psychology in college, Bill?"_

_"I thought you read my file," he said, giving her a sly look. "Surely you know I minored in psychology." He shrugged. "I liked the behavioral experiments with the rats."_

_She pressed a hand to her forehead, thinking back on his file (the original, of course, had been left on Caprica, so what she had was the abridged version). "You really minored in psychology?"_

_"No. But I can call a narcissistic tyrant when I see one." He tossed her the book she had wanted to borrow, and she caught the corner-less volume neatly in one hand. "Just remember the old quote."_

_"'Men don't make passes at-'"_

_"No."_

_"'Every girl's crazy about a sharp dressed man?'"_

_He pushed his glasses back up his nose and sighed deeply. "No. 'Pride goes before a fall.'"_

_"Doesn't really have the same ring to it, though," she pointed out._

_"I suppose not," he replied, "but if you really thought that Baltar was a sharp dresser, then I would have personally escorted you to the sickbay."_

_"Thank the gods for small favors," she quipped, and left._

* * *

The event at the amphitheatre was not the end of Cylon-human relations. There had been several small-scale attacks since that day, all easily dealt with (for the population, having finally regained their freedom, would not be so amenable to being ruled for quite some time). There were a few lives lost in these skirmishes, although the number was small compared to the slaughter that had already past. Laura and her confederates, who now somewhat officially led the populace as a quorum of four (much to Cottle's dismay), had only a sketchy idea of the number of Cylons remaining. Whether these small battles truly reflected the amount, or whether they were simply distractions from a larger movement, was something they discussed many a time.

The other part of the remaining Cylon-human relations was easier to deal with, because the Cylon in question was Hera. Having made the mistake of farming her out once before- Laura still blamed herself in part for Maya's death- she wasn't so avid to find another adoptive mother for her amongst the families who might be willing. Plus, there was the added difficulty of Baltar's possible prophecy. If Hera was the child he mentioned- and who else would it be?- Laura wanted her close at hand. Thus, Laura took Hera in herself, trying to decide whether or not she would ever reveal the girl's parentage. Assuming they found the fleet, she thought Helo might have some suspicions regarding Hera's parentage, and rightfully so, as she looked more like her mother every passing day.

If Laura let Helo in on this particular state secret, Sharon would be a problem. Laura thought on this as the days passed, filled with problems of governing and shepherding one stubborn little girl from bed to bath to play and back to bed again, a never ending cycle that she shared with Starbuck as a crash course in childcare. On the one hand, after the extremely troubled history that the human race had shared thus far with the Cylons, Laura was loath to trust anyone of their race. On the other… well, she certainly trusted Hera, or at least as far as one could safely trust a toddler. Perhaps it was her human upbringing that made the difference, or the human half of her DNA, but still Laura could not discount her Cylon heritage. She was a little girl, but she was also the daughter of murderers.

But then, Laura figured that she could safely say the same of her own child. She reasoned that it was a question better left to the philosophers of the worlds, at least regarding the Cylon race as a whole. Hera- and by extension, Sharon- would simply have to be judged on an individual basis. And right now, Hera was just a cranky toddler who needed a nap and a good bit of affection, something that Laura could easily take care of while Starbuck (with great glee) hunted down and destroyed every single bug within her two-room home. Laura hadn't been watching Kara long enough to tell how she was destroying them, as Hera was taking most of her attention, but she suspected a hammer was involved. As well as a great deal of cursing, which Hera found immensely fascinating.

"Frak!" she crowed happily, imitating what she could hear of Starbuck from the outside. "Frak frak frak."

"Don't use that word," Laura replied firmly, tucking Hera's wiggling legs back under the blanket. "It's a bad word."

"Frak!" was all Hera had to say in the face of Laura's reprimand. She grabbed the hem of Laura's sweater and tugged.

"This is a precursor of things to come," Laura informed her seriously. "With your Aunt Kara around, there won't be a child within her baby's age group that won't know every curse word in the galaxy."

Starbuck came in whistling and caught her last few words. "Hey, I fully intend to clean up my act by the time this kid is born," she stated defensively, tucking her hammer safely away on a high shelf. "This kid will have the cleanest mouth in the racks." She moved over to the bed, exuding some sort of force that had Hera immediately settling down and sucking her thumb. Laura wished that she would share her secret. "Ready for a nap?" Kara asked the girl, sounding much more comfortable with the words than she had a week or so ago.

"Frak," Hera mumbled seriously, around her thumb.

Starbuck straightened. "You may have a point," she told Laura sheepishly. "I'll work on it."

Once Hera finally fell asleep- something that happened much quicker after Laura left the room and Starbuck sat next to the girl- the two of them gathered in the other room, still reveling in the ability to speak anything they wanted aloud. Within reason, of course, given Hera's seeming ability to hear every naughty word within miles.

"So," Starbuck began, pulling down several mugs for tea, "when the Old Man gets here, will you make sure I'm around for the first confrontation? Because I'm expecting that it will be funny. A joyous memory for years to come, even. For me, anyway."

Laura shot her a dirty look, but couldn't help smiling just a little. "The longer I wait, the more frustrated I become. Which is sort of unreasonable; after all, it's not like we have any kind of communication with the fleet."

"But still," Starbuck agreed, nodding. "You just want him… to _know_."

"Exactly."

"And since he obviously doesn't _know_- anything, at this point- he's gonna have to make it up to you." Starbuck sat at the table and grabbed Laura's hand. "Please, please, _please_ make him wait on you hand and foot… and then get him laid. For the sake of the fleet."

"Starbuck," Laura replied dryly, "I am mere weeks away from giving birth, and after that he can sleep at my feet for the next few months for all I care. He's not getting anything."

"I suppose that works too," Kara said thoughtfully. "If he's so tied up in trying to apologize to you, then he won't be paying much attention to us."

Laura laughed. "One: when have you ever known him unable to multitask? And two: you are also expecting, so I don't understand why distracting him would matter. It's not like you and your cronies are going to get drunk and have orgies in the halls."

Kara released her hand and propped her chin in her palm, looking a bit glum. "Hard habit to get out of, I guess. Plus, I'm not sure what he'll think of- of all this." She waved her hand in the general direction of her abdomen. "Part of me wants to find some desolate corner of the ship and just be left alone; the other wants to prove that I'm still able to do everything I once could." She sighed. "And then, there's… Lee."

"Oh, I think I can take care of Lee," Laura stated, entirely without doubt, and Starbuck looked a bit startled, and then she began to snicker.

"He's gonna have a conniption when he finds out his father knocked you up," she said amidst her laughter, leaning back in her chair. "I could paint myself blue and streak- well, saunter- naked in the halls and he probably wouldn't notice." She gave Laura a teasing grin. "Always playing the martyr, aren't you?"

"It does seem to be my calling," Laura admitted, easing a minor cramp in her lower back. "I will admit that I hope they arrive before the baby comes." She placed a hand over the spot where her child had just kicked. "As unlikely as that looks, these days."

Kara shrugged. "The Colonel's got the boys on the comm. day and night, now. Eventually they'll make it through."

"Assuming that there is anyone on the other end to hear."

"Well, yeah."

That pretty much killed the rest of the conversation.

* * *

The message came in a week later, crackling with static. A young man Laura was not much acquainted with brought a transcription of the message to her guards, who- knowing that this was very important news indeed- woke her up before dawn so that she could read it. By the time Laura was awake enough to make sense of the sheet of paper in front of her, Starbuck had apparently heard the news and had slipped into the house with a drowsy Hera on her hip (for, being younger, more energetic, and in greater need of a distraction after her husband's death, Kara had gradually begun taking care of Hera more and more nights).

"Gods," she breathed as Hera stirred somewhat fretfully. "What in Hades does it say?"

Laura released a breath she hadn't known that she was holding. "It says that the fleet is coming," she said slowly, "with firepower." She looked up and caught Starbuck's gaze.

They both burst into semi-hysterical laughter at the same moment, jolting Hera awake. As the toddler began to whimper, Kara sat heavily next to Laura on the bed, a few tears dotting her face. Still laughing, Kara said, "I can't wait to see their faces when they get here and find out we took care of everything."

"Hardly everything," Laura pointed out, helping her lay Hera between them. The little girl gave them a look that on a teenager would have been a sure sign of disgust.

"A good bit, though," Starbuck replied. She chuckled again. "The fleet will land, and they'll come out and instantly be met by the cult of Laura Roslin."

"Oh gods," Laura moaned, burying her face in her hands.

"It's so true, though! They'd build you a shrine if they thought you wanted one. They'd carry you around in a litter all day." She lowered her voice as Hera began to drift off again. "Have you realized that the rate of women becoming pregnant hasn't dropped yet?"

"It will soon enough," Laura replied dismissively. "The boom can only last so long. And if it was the planet or the Cylons all along, then we'll know soon."

Starbuck shook her head wildly, grinning. "Oh no. Oh _no_. You've started a _trend_. I've overheard more women talking about hoping to get pregnant in the last few days than in the last year. And not just the women who already have children and husbands, but single women, and women with female partners."

Laura wanted to go back to bed, suddenly. "Frak."

"You were the one who said that we needed to start having babies," Kara reminded her. "You just happened to lead the way, is all."

"I don't _want_ to be their goddess."

"Then I guess you're frakked," Starbuck replied pragmatically. "Fate is funny that way."

Laura sighed, the baby kicked, and she felt a false contraction sweep through her body.

It was obviously going to be a fantastic day.


	13. Conspicuous Among Women

_But now she is conspicuous among Lydian women_

_ as sometimes at sunset_

_ the rosyfingered moon_

_surpasses all the stars._

_-Sappho_

If Laura had been given a choice about how the arrival of the fleet should be, she would have chosen anti-climatic. Uneventful, at least on the major scale. No singing, no speeches- gods please, no speeches- nothing but tearful reunions between families and friends and enough distraction so that she corner Bill in some private spot and break her news, although he would know as soon as she got within seeing distance. Her sweaters had stopped being truly effective sometime after the beginning of the heavy rains. By now, it was pretty obvious that what they tried to conceal was her pregnant belly, not frequent overeating.

She found herself biting an already ragged nail, and forced herself to stop. It was a habit she thought she had finally broken sometime after college, but she had recently begun slipping back into it. What she needed was for their reunion to be a private one, without the eyes of the crowd watching their every move. Starbuck and Cottle were right; they were on the verge of worshipping her, a disturbing social move that had yet to dissipate and didn't show signs of decreasing any time soon. She had been given a brief taste of this during her time as the prophesied leader, but this was… overwhelming.

She thought she had an idea of how the arrival would go: herself with the huge group of settlers, all torn between the excitement of seeing loved ones and the excitement of seeing the moment which, for her, by all rights should be private. Even if she failed to show up- something that would send a wave of gossip through the settlement, she was sure- the populace would tell their arriving friends about her pregnancy, who would tell the members of their fleet, who would tell their commanding officers, and so on and so forth.

Better not to let him hear the news through the chain of gossips. No matter how much she hated the idea, she would be at the head of the crowd, waiting in the rain for the man that she wanted to both kiss and kill.

She was pretty sure- pretty sure- that the latter was just because of the hormones.

She hoped that her dreams were, as well.

* * *

Laura woke up two days after receiving the message to find Starbuck pensively lounging on the one comfortable chair; a sleeping Hera slumped against her chest and curved around her burgeoning belly. She looked up as Laura shifted to reach for her glasses.

"Did I wake you?" came Kara's whisper, "I've been here for a bit."

Laura didn't doubt that. Although technically Starbuck could be called 'heavy with child', she was still pretty light on her feet. "News?" Laura asked, sitting up with difficulty.

"No." Kara shook her head, a strand of hair falling across her eyes unheeded. "I just can't get used to being alone in the house- even with Hera, it doesn't feel right." Hera whimpered slightly in her sleep, her right fist almost inside her mouth. Starbuck looked down at her with a gaze that Laura could only describe as exceedingly fond.

_Two lost children_, Laura suddenly realized. She wouldn't have necessarily expected Starbuck to bond deeply with the hybrid child, but seeing the proof right in front of her made an almost scary sort of sense. Hera definitely regarded the young woman as more than an auntie- not quite as mother, yet, but there was a shift in that direction.

"I'm going to keep her, you know," Starbuck said quietly, glancing over at Laura. "I want to, and she'll do well with me and the baby."

Laura nodded, tossing the blankets off of her legs and standing. "I was just thinking that," she admitted. "Someday we'll have to explain things to Helo, but… but that day is not today." She made her way to the table and took a chair across from Kara. "You can tuck her in my bed if you want."

"Nah." Starbuck waved her free hand dismissively, the other arm tucked around the curve of Hera's spine. "She's fine."

They were silent for a few minutes, watching Hera as she slept, looking the picture of innocence.

"She's a good kid," Starbuck whispered.

Laura smiled gently. "And you're a good mother."

Starbuck took in a deep breath, an uncertain smile trembling on her lips. "Never wanted to be like my own."

"You won't," Laura assured her. "You're too steady."

"New Caprica would temper anyone," Kara muttered. "Thank the gods for small favors."

Outside the small cabin, they heard the familiar sound of aircraft. And, despite the fact that it was early in the morning, the first civilian cheers rose to the sky.

"And so it begins," Laura murmured, and rose to face the day.

* * *

_She had had this dream before, once every night since she had awoken from their chamalla escapade. It always began on Galactica, without exception: she stood in Bill's quarters, watching him flick the filter from his cigarette before he smoked it, a glass of ambrosia on the table and a book open and ignored before him. She would walk over to him, still heavily pregnant, and he would pat her stomach absentmindedly._

_The minute his hand touched her abdomen, the scene dissolved into the amphitheatre. She would stand next to Six's body, Baltar kneeling on the other side, his hands cupped around the Cylon's cheeks. "The clouds veil the stars and we all drown," he told the dead woman. As she stood there, she would press her hands to her abdomen and feel kick after kick, a repetitive drumming rhythm that thrummed against the palms of her hands._

_The clouds veil the stars and we all drown._

_The clouds veil the stars and we all drown._

_The clouds veil the stars and we all drown._

* * *

From the first, things did not go exactly as Laura had planned. As soon as she stood up, another fierce false contraction swept through her body and sent her back to her seat. Upon ascertaining that Laura was indeed all right, and probably not going into actual labor this very second, Starbuck settled a suddenly alert Hera on the floor and shepherded Laura back to her bed.

"I don't care what you say," she said stubbornly, pulling the blankets back over Laura's form and ignoring Laura's impressive glare. "Any place they could land would be too far to walk in this weather, and if you get sick or gods forbid fall or do anything remotely stupid the Old Man will have my head." She handed Laura a book that she plucked randomly off the shelf. "Read. Stay."

"And what, pray tell, will you be doing in the interim?" Laura asked acidly, propping herself up on her elbows.

"Going to check things out." Starbuck scooped Hera off the floor and settled her on her right hip. "And if you move, I will know, and my wrath will be terrible." She took one of the smaller spare blankets and arranged it so that it draped securely over her shoulder and kept Hera out of the rain, knotting the ends at her hip.

"You could leave Hera," Laura suggested. "She'll get heavy after a while."

Starbuck leveled her with a look, one that Laura thought would make any recalcitrant teenager shrink in fear. "If I leave her, you'll spend the entire time trying to keep up with her. You need your rest."

"Can't imagine why," Laura muttered sarcastically, stuffing another pillow behind her back. She looked back at Kara, changing her tone. "If you see him…"

"Refrain from demanding a shotgun marriage for sullying your virtue?" Starbuck suggested, and shot her a teasing smile. She left before Laura could come up with a suitably scathing reply, still chuckling quietly.

Laura leaned back on her pillows, feeling very grumpy… until she realized that, the possibility of him finding out from gossip aside, Starbuck had just given her a chance at something she wanted very much.

A private reunion.

She pulled one of the pillows from behind her back and turned onto her side, listening to the rain on the roof increase from a gentle pinging to a heavier pounding. Not exactly good conditions for a mass reunion, but she thought that most people would be too happy to care much. Gods knew that she would be, even if she had been ordered indoors by a fellow quorum member.

There was a lump in her mattress, right beneath the curve of her hip. She shifted, missing the relative comfort of her bed on Colonial One, missing the short series of days after Bill had left for the last time and his scent was still on her sheets.

Gods, she missed that man. More, even, than she had admitted to herself for the past eight months, and more than her first few weeks on this planet. She could almost feel the lack of him as a pain beneath her ribs, vibrating through her body like another Braxton-Hicks. More than anything she wished that she were in the air, tucked safely in his rack and well away from New Caprica.

The wish was strong, and she had almost fallen asleep when she heard the first gunshot. With that, her eyes flew back open, and she sat upright quicker than she had in months. There was another shot, and another, and finally she stopped trying to count them and focused on getting toward the door to enforce the rudimentary lock. She wasn't sure if any of the guards were still outside- the rejoicing over the arrivals might have overcome duty- but hoped that a few still were.

Obviously, the Cylons had made another appearance.

There was a sharp kick in her mid-section, right about the same time the window blew in, the glass settling across the bed like ice.

_Thank the gods_, Laura thought. _I could have been over there_. As it was, she was safely on the other side- a side that did have a window, but a much smaller one, and closer to the roof.

It also happened to be the side with all the knives. One in particular looked to be useful: more of a hunting knife than anything else, Tigh had insisted she keep it shortly after she came out of her unconsciousness. It would only do for close combat, something that would be an unwieldy act at best and fatal at the worst, but in her situation it was the best weapon at hand.

There was a brief scramble outside the broken window, though she couldn't see the participants from her position. Friend or foe? Probably both.

And strangely, Laura found that she was not frightened, or resigned, or sad at the turn of events. Rather, she was furious. She had survived breast cancer, being separated from the man she loved, and sacrificing herself and her child for the common good. Having lived through all of that, she was right back at staring down death.

Plus, the wind was blowing the rain in through the frakking broken window. Laura was not pleased in the slightest.

So, when a hand appeared through the empty window frame- a hand that was blessedly recognizable, bearing upon it the same scar another Valerii clone had received roughly four months ago in a mill accident- Laura had already moved close enough to slash the invading hand with her knife.

There was a shriek, another gunshot, and what sounded like the spontaneous retreat of one side of the small battle being waged near her home. She waited a safe distance apart from the window, blood still dripping from the knife edge, and when Tigh appeared on the other side of the frame she had to curb herself from instinctively throwing her weapon.

"Gods, you are feisty," was his only comment, and she sighed deeply.

"Did they run off?" she asked, dropping the knife on the table and moving to unlock the door.

"Yes. Apparently they weren't expecting a knife-wielding pregnant woman." He walked in and grabbed her last spare blanket, tossing it over her shoulders. "Come on, Starbuck's house is still dry."

She wedged her feet into her shoes, clutching the edges of the blanket. "Any news from the ships?"

"We've had a few raptors come in, but I haven't been over there yet. When I saw Starbuck head off with only Hera, I figured someone should stick around and keep an eye on you… if only to make sure you didn't run off after her."

"Touching," Laura snapped, wiping some of the persistent rain off of her face, ignoring the fresh body sprawled nearby. Her Valerii clone, with a fresh slice on her hand and two bullet holes in her chest. "But," Laura admitted, rather grudgingly, "I am glad you showed up."

He merely nodded in reply, his gun at the ready as he scanned the area for possible attackers. They made it to Starbuck's home without incident- _thank the gods_- and he swept the two rooms for enemies before letting her settle on the bed. One of Hera's favorite toys, a small stuffed cat, was next to the pillow, and Laura clasped a hand over it after lying down.

"I'm exhausted," she commented in a mutter, pulling the blankets up to her chin and watching as he reinforced the locks and checked the windows.

And this time, though she could not slip into the illusion of being in Bill's rack, she settled for the comforting and familiar scent of military issue soap that clung to Starbuck's bedding, and finally fell back asleep.


	14. Truce

_Stand to face me beloved_

_and open out the grace of your eyes._

_ -Sappho_

She woke up when a small body crept into the bed along with her, wresting the stuffed cat from her hand and burrowing as close to her chest as possible. Laura opened her eyes to a close-up view of Hera's scalp.

"You're not exactly who I was hoping for," she murmured, feeling so heavy with sleep that she wasn't sure she could get up. Hera wrapped an arm around her neck, silently telling Laura that the child didn't intend to move anytime soon. Laura curved her right arm to cradle the girl's back, tangling her fingers in the Hera's fine hair. She could hear Starbuck's voice murmuring in the next room, though not her exact words. Who was she talking to? Tigh? Lee? Bill?

Part of the mystery was solved when, a moment later, she heard Tigh's distinctive timbre reply to something Kara had said. Laura briefly wondered if the events of the morning had been one final dizzying chamalla trip- that happened sometimes, days or weeks after it was metabolized- but then she wondered why she would be in Starbuck's bed if that was so. She took in a slow breath, inhaling the clean scent of Hera's hair, that indistinctive scent that all children seemed to have and that bolstered her already impressive maternal instinct, and lifted her head slightly to check the rest of the room.

No one. Or, so she thought, until a figure stepped out of her blind spot and perched on the few inches Hera had left unclaimed. Bill untangled her right hand from Hera's hair and enfolded it between his own, peering down at her surprised expression.

She watched his face carefully. He looked about as stoic as ever, but if she wasn't mistaken… ah yes, there it was- a tiny glimmer of a smile at the corner of his mouth, and possibly a few tears gathering in his eyes. For a moment, they just stared in silence, only held in place by the presence of Hera between them. Finally, he moved his face closer to hers, and said, "According to Starbuck, I owe you a wedding ring. I think I know why, but I'd like to hear you say it."

"I wouldn't say that you owe it," she murmured in reply, her tactile senses flaring at the touch of his hands around her own, the scrape and slide of ridged and calloused fingers. "No one will hunt you down because you got me pregnant out of wedlock." She slid the pads of her fingers delicately across his palm, rememorizing the lines, and amended, "Except perhaps Starbuck."

"She did seem particularly indignant," he replied, allowing the smile to creep full-fledged onto his face, reaching with his free hand to trace the curve of her cheekbone and the slant of her jaw. "Although that may have been because we stayed away too long."

She raised a somewhat scolding brow, feeling an ache begin in the back of her throat. He was here, and whole, and well, and the good fortune was almost overwhelming. "And why was that, exactly?"

"In hindsight, none of our reasons are worth mentioning. And before you take me to task, perhaps you could explain some of the more risky parts of your insurrection."

They exchanged measuring looks for a moment. "Truce?" she finally asked, fighting to keep her voice steady, and his grip on her hand tightened.

"Truce." He eyed her sternly a moment longer. "Temporarily."

"Then the same goes for you," she replied, and glanced at Hera. "Could you take her to Starbuck?"

His smile returned, and he carefully gathered Hera in his arms. She awoke, and stared up at him silently. "Didn't we toss her out the airlock?" he asked teasingly, giving Laura a sly glance.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," was her answer, and she propped herself up on one elbow while she waited for him to return. In the other room he said something unintelligible to Starbuck, who laughed. Finally he returned and slipped an arm around Laura's now-nonexistent waistline, helping her to a seated position.

He placed his free hand on the top of her abdomen, his other arm still secure behind her back. "Well, you did say we should start having babies."

She smiled, slightly. "I wasn't planning on making a personal contribution to the cause, at that time."

"And now?" He moved his hand lower, right above her belly button, feeling a heel thump against his palm.

"I'm happy," she stated plainly, placing her hand over his. "But," she added, "disappear for another eight months and I'm throwing you out the airlock."

He chuckled briefly, and then pulled her closer. It should have been an awkward embrace, logistically, but she found that it certainly didn't feel like one. He tunneled a hand through her hair, cradling her head at the bottom of her skull. "I nearly had a frakking heart attack when Starbuck and I got to your home," he said quietly, resting his forehead against hers. "And I wasn't just worried about the baby."

"I know." She slid her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. "I'm very, very glad that you've finally come back." She felt a tear slide from the corner of one eye; with a sheepish smile she blinked the rest away. "Hormones."

He kissed her, then, in a way more like he had on _Colonial One_ after his promotion, and less like the kisses they had shared his last night on New Caprica. Gentle, but nostalgic, almost as if he didn't quite believe she was really there with him. When he pulled away- much to soon, in her opinion, although her bladder thought his timing was just about perfect- she dropped her head onto his shoulder and found herself weeping again, much to her own embarrassment.

"Frakking hormones," she muttered, comforting herself with the smell and feel of him.

He ran a hand over her hair, longer than when he had seen it last. "We'll be on our way soon."

"Thank the gods." Feeling another twinge, she pulled away slightly and laughed a tad shakily. "I need to visit the privy." She ran her right index finger over his grinning lips, and then a thought occurred to her. "Lee…?"

He winced, slightly. "Probably. But you shouldn't worry- I'm the one who will be hearing all about knocking up the former president." He helped her stand and they walked together into the other room, where Starbuck, Tigh, and Hera looked at them with varying degrees of interest.

"Well?" Starbuck asked Adama, crossing her arms cockily, "Are you going to do your duty?"

"Don't ask him that; I'm still thinking," Laura replied, almost cross, although that was more on the part of her insistent bladder than anything else. "Frak!" she cursed suddenly, halfway to the door, "I forgot my shoes."

It was Hera, surprisingly, who was first to move; she skittered into the other room and returned with Laura's shoes in hand. "Frak, Auntie Laur?" she asked innocently, and Adama gave Starbuck a knowing glance. Starbuck held up her hands in an almost supplicatory fashion. Hera returned to her play as Laura put on her shoes, letting Bill steady her when she almost lost her balance.

Tigh stood and walked out the door ahead of them ("I don't need a frakking _procession _for this," Laura protested) to act as an additional guard, both against the odd Cylon raid and curious passerby. There was many of the latter- Starbuck looked out the door after them and said to Adama, "Have I told you about her cult yet?"

Laura had muttered something unintelligible in reply and smiled briefly at some of the newcomers, all of whom seemed to either be extremely amused or horrified.

"You have a cult?" Bill whispered in her ear.

She sighed. "I'll tell you later," she replied, and disappeared into the privy.

Upon returning- thinking she had never missed indoor and relatively private plumbing more- she linked her arm with his for the first time in months, and they shared a smile.

"You are going to marry me, right?" he asked quietly as they made their way back, a few of the more amused members of the fleet leading a small round of applause.

She glanced back at their audience briefly, checking to make sure that they were reasonably out of earshot. "Not if the offer is only because of your insufferably traditional sense of honor."

"If I was insufferably honorable, I would have married you _before_ I frakked you," he pointed out, looking as if he was enjoying the conversation much too much. "Which the evidence disproves."

"She's going to enjoy making your life miserable," Tigh muttered from behind them, and she smirked.

"And now," she continued, intentionally saving Bill's question for a more private time, "…Lee."

"Lee," Bill agreed. All three of them, Tigh included, heaved a deep sigh.

It was going to be one of _those_ conversations.

Starbuck looked up as they entered, her brow creasing as she noticed their slightly gloomy expressions. "Well?"

Laura took one of the other chairs, watching as Hera navigated one of Starbuck's shoes around a pot. "We're just considering what to do about Lee."

Now Starbuck looked equally gloomy. "The thorn in everyone's side." She jolted, slightly, bringing a hand to her abdomen and rubbing one spot gently. She slanted a curious look at Adama. "How is… Lee?"

Bill, who had taken a seat between the two women, gave her in return a perceptive glance. He was well acquainted with the tumultuous relationship between Kara and Apollo, and Laura could tell that he was prepared to intercede for Starbuck as well as herself, if necessary. "A bit withdrawn, since the initial invasion of New Caprica. He and Petty Officer Dualla seem to be on the rocks, lately."

Laura couldn't tell if Starbuck was pleased or disturbed by this news; she had dropped her head slightly upon hearing, the movement shadowing her eyes. Bill unhesitatingly dropped a gentle hand on Kara's shoulder, a silent gesture of support. She gave him a tiny smile.

Laura smiled slightly, as well. Starbuck now had the assurance of the eldest Adama male, which would go a long way in softening whatever Lee might say without thinking first.

"Now," Bill said, changing the subject, "what was that you were saying about a cult, Starbuck?"

Whatever shadows had still remained in Kara's expression abruptly fled, and she tipped her head back in a loud laugh while Laura groaned. "Laura's adoring devotees."

"Haven't we gone through all this before?" Bill asked Laura, smiling fondly and placing a hand on her knee. She had her head in her hands, and did not deign to reply. Starbuck, she was sure, would take care of that for her.

And Starbuck did. "See, it really all started when everyone found out she was pregnant," she expounded avidly, "I mean, one day shrouded in sweaters and the next miraculously fertile, it was like Hera herself had appeared in the settlement. And then she headed up the insurrection-"

"I did not head up the insurrection," Laura corrected, still in her abject pose of _I-can't-believe-this-is-happening-to-me_.

Tigh snorted. "Of course not. You weren't the one to call the first meeting, or the one to think of chamalla, or the first one to be adamant about sacrificing yourself." He glanced at Bill and shrugged apologetically. "I tried to stop her."

"Anyway," Starbuck cut in, before Adama could say anything incriminating (she figured it would either be a threat to Tigh or a comment about Laura's innate blockheadedness). "After surviving the amphitheatre, she just became this frakking _legend_. Now everyone keeps talking about how oh, they voted for her in the last election and oh, they knew Baltar was evil from the beginning, and oh, isn't Laura Roslin just the most amazing, magnificent heroine to ever grace the mortal plain of existence-"

"They did not say that," Laura gasped in horror, finally looking up.

"Of course they did, but in much more flowery terms," Kara assured her. "Right now, they think the Admiral is a prick for abandoning you- sorry, sir- but before you know it there will be a rumor about communicating telepathically or something, your love overcoming the boundaries of space."

Laura didn't think she had ever seen Saul Tigh laugh quite that hard, or Bill, for that matter. Hera lost her interest in Starbuck's shoes, and moved to stand next to Kara at the table, giving her a questioning look.

Starbuck's humor tempered, somewhat. "And you," she told the little girl more seriously, "you can be thanked for changing history for the better, even if it was through tragedy." She and Hera exchanged seemingly serious looks, the toddler looking as if she understood more than might be expected of her. Starbuck hoisted Hera into what remained of her lap, and returned to her tale. "Now, a lot of women had been pregnant before the insurrection, but even more now. They seem to be inspired by Laura's example."

"I prefer to think that it is merely the normal result of surviving an unexpected tragedy," Laura commented dryly, barely glancing at Bill as he slid his hand a bit farther up her leg.

"I did see an unusually large amount of babies and pregnant women when I arrived," Bill said thoughtfully, gazing at Laura's own extended abdomen for a long moment. "What about the early batch?"

"We haven't quite figured that out yet," Laura admitted, watching as Hera examined Starbuck's dog tags minutely. "It seems… farfetched… to attribute it to something about the planet."

He considered the suggestion for a moment. "The planet does seem to have an overabundance of fertility, in itself," he finally said, and ignored her incredulous look. "But it's misplaced, perverted. All the rain, but no time given for the rest of the process." He shrugged. "On the other side of the planet, there is a rather large expanse of lush greenery. I believe that Baltar chose not to settle there because of some interesting animal life, but the climate was a bit more moderate."

Tigh nodded. "I remember some of the surveillance pictures," he added. "They came across a few huge packs of catlike creatures; we almost lost a few men to them. They had no fear."

"Perhaps they had been exposed to humans- or seemingly human behavior- before." Laura glanced at Bill. "Cylons?"

"Possibly. Or, for all we know, we aren't the first group to attempt settling here."

Starbuck looked up from her quiet converse with Hera. "The thirteenth colony?" she asked in surprise. "But that was centuries ago."

"Maybe a group decided to settle early," Tigh posited. "They may have had the same sort of situation that we did."

"That wouldn't explain the planet being responsible for our baby boom," Laura noted, "except for indirectly. Unless this supposed group introduced something to the environment."

"Some sort of fertility drug?" Starbuck replied skeptically. "There is nothing manmade that would last that long."

"Nothing we have. And they may have found something natural," was Laura's response. There was a gust of wind outside, and the rain lessened to a soft, constant drizzle. "Something that liked rain," she added dryly, dropping her hand over Bill's.

"It almost makes you wish that we could check out that spot more closely," Starbuck said thoughtfully, braiding a small section of Hera's hair. "For clues."

"_No_," Adama and Tigh said in unison.

"I'd rather just get everyone off this planet and continue with our journey," Bill continued, exchanging decisive nods with Tigh. "Especially since almost half of the fleet is pregnant or still considered to be on maternity leave, and nearly everyone else is woefully out of practice. It would be too risky."

Laura nodded in assent, although she thought Starbuck's idea had merit, at least for appeasing their curiosity. "How soon can we be back in the sky?"

"Less than a week," Tigh hazarded. "Sooner, if we can get the civilians organized quickly."

"I don't think we'll have much trouble convincing everyone to leave," Laura said assuredly. "The sooner, the better- especially with the Cylons still around."

"What are we going to do about that?" Starbuck asked. "Besides taking their rides."

"We have some warheads," Bill offered, and Laura grimaced.

"Although it would be poetic justice to payback in turn, I'm not exactly thrilled with the idea," she admitted. "I'd rather just let them rot."

"But if there was a human civilization here at one point, they could have left ships behind," Bill pointed out. Laura considered that in silence for a moment, and eventually nodded slowly in agreement.

"I suppose, then, we should send them a parting gift as we leave," she said quietly. "Let it be done."

She looked across the table, and by chance met Hera's clear and attentive gaze. _She's going to remember this, one day_, Laura suddenly realized, as her child aimed a sharp kick at her bladder, and she sent up a desperate plea to the gods that on that day, Hera would understand why they had done everything they had done.

And hopefully, on that day, Hera would listen to every shred of human mercy and love that resided within her. Starbuck's arms tightened around the child, and she met Laura's gaze over the table.

_Raise her well_, Laura told her silently, and Starbuck dipped her chin slightly in acknowledgment, shouldering the immense responsibility without hesitation.

Bill turned the hand that was on her thigh palm up, capturing the hand she had laid on top of his. He had seen the silent communication, and knew what it meant.

Gods, she was glad that he was finally here.


	15. Sweetbitter

_Eros the melter of limbs (now again) stirs me-_

_sweetbitter unmanageable creature who steals in._

_ -Sappho_

At the end of the day, Laura and Bill retired to a bedroom that had been hastily set up in the schoolhouse. Formerly a cloakroom, it was strategically easier to defend than the home that she had lived in until that morning, which had been truly damaged by the rain coming in through the broken windows.

Small and windowless, their temporary lodging was at least snug and dry, if a bit dim. And, of course, for the first time in months Laura didn't have to rely solely on what little warmth blankets and layers could impart, so she was perfectly content to curl up with Bill in the dark (more than content, actually). Their first reunion had not been quite the private event she had imagined, what with Tigh, Starbuck, and Hera nearby, but infinitely preferable to the public monstrosity it could have been. And while she was nearly exhausted from the emotional drive of the day and the planning she had done with Bill and her small quorum, she- despite her firm statements to Kara several days ago- was feeling in the mood for something… more. Specifically, a massage and an orgasm, but if she fell asleep in the middle of the massage, she'd be all right with that too. Thus, as soon as Bill shut the door, Laura was poised beside him with an expectant look on her face.

An expectancy that he was all too happy to comply with, which was how she found herself flat on her back (_again_, she thought wryly, all too pleasantly distracted by his hands) the aftershocks of an almost too intense orgasm rattling her brain and melting whatever hadn't been massaged into submission into a limp-limbed serenity.

All in all, she had had a _really_ good day. Such a good day, in fact, that she felt no hesitation whatsoever in pointing out Bill's one failing.

"I really hate your mustache," she informed him with a yawn, her eyes drifting shut as he methodically kissed his way across her burgeoning belly, for perhaps the twentieth time that night.

"Hmmm. And I really love your stretch marks."

She snickered, and brushed her hand across the back of his head as he paid homage to one particularly livid mark. "Do you?"

"Of course," he replied patiently, staring at her stomach with the same wonder that she had seen in his eyes all day, and that she had yet to tire of seeing. "Giving birth is a battlefield, and these are your first scars. They're beautiful."

She raised just enough to examine her abdomen again- still the same webbed lines that she had seen for several months now. "Beautiful?"

"Yes," he replied firmly, and stretched himself out on his side beside her, propping himself up on his elbow. She entwined one of her hands in his free one, her eyes beginning to drift shut.

"I'm sorry that I left you in such a miserable position," he said quietly, a moment later, flexing his fingers slightly within her grasp. "The sacrifices you made-"

"Were necessary," she reminded him softly, releasing his hand as he lay down completely and pulled her into his arms. "I couldn't have let this child grow up in a Cylon colony, anyway."

"I know."

She opened her eyes and met his glance, his face so close to her own. "I wanted to be selfish," she admitted. "If there had been a way to break free without risking the baby, or myself, I would have gone that way."

"I probably have the baby to thank that you are still alive," he muttered, a tad darkly, sliding a possessive hand over the curve of her stomach. "Gods only know what you would have done."

She rather thought he had a point. Despite her resolve to sacrifice herself and the baby if necessary, she had acted with more care than she might have done otherwise. It was a thought she hadn't previously considered.

He pulled her a bit closer, tucking her carefully against his body. "We'll be back on Galactica within a week," he promised in a whisper, and she smiled in the dark. It was a lovely thought to go to sleep on.

And yet, she found that she couldn't, at least not without having one more question answered. "How did you get past the Cylon fleet?" she asked a few minutes later, before his breathing had slowed to sleep. They knew- the entire colony knew- that the Cylons had a fleet in the sky; one that was inaccessible to the grounded fleet and civilians. When they had not been attacked following the rebellion, it had been a miracle. That even a part of their own fleet had reached them unharmed was an even greater miracle.

He was silent for a moment, though she could tell from his sudden tension that it was a question- or an answer- that made him uneasy. "Gone," he finally admitted. "We arrived ready for a fight, and all that met us was empty space. Not a good sign."

"No," she whispered in reply. "It's not."

If the gods were merciful- and every indication Laura had received thus far showed that they were- then everyone in the settlement would be long gone by the time the Cylons and their fleet returned. Hopefully.

* * *

_Not Galactica, this time, but an unfamiliar ship that was polished and organized beyond anything she had ever seen. It was too perfect, like a picture. By all rights any moment a crewmember would come through covered with engine grease, or several drunken fleet pilots would totter into the hall and drop a bottle or two._

_And yet… no one. There was not even a coating of dust on the floors or shelves, indicating that somehow, somewhere, there were living creatures aboard. _

_As she wandered through the halls, she heard the faint brush of far off voices. Following the sound, she soon came to a small cluster of people tucked in a corner of the hall, whispering furtively with clenched hands and furrowed foreheads._

_She recognized them, or at least their counterparts- Six, Valerii, Leoben, a few others._

_As she drew closer, the small group turned to watch her approach, surprise painted clear across their faces. She hesitated, taking a small step back, her hands flying protectively to her rounded stomach._

"_You cannot be prophet and martyr both," Six said, a hand slipping down to the gun at her side. _

"_I didn't ask to be either," Laura replied, taking another step back and finding herself at a wall. _

_Six drew her gun, leveling it slowly at Laura's heart, before tipping the barrel down slightly. "How did you get on this ship?"_

_Laura thought that Six's priorities were just a bit out of order. "I'm not on the ship, I'm dreaming."_

"_Ah. Then, dreaming seer, know this: we came for a purpose, and we left for a reason. Your little insurrection had nothing to do with our exodus." Six pulled the trigger._

_There was a sharp, jagged twist of pain in Laura's abdomen, and she popped out of existence._

* * *

She had a rather violent awakening, one that she and Bill both shared the brunt of. As she struggled awake, he had taken several blows to the ribs. She, on the other hand, was in the grip of what she desperately hoped was another false contraction.

He grasped the situation quickly. Though most of the pain was over within moments, she still found herself watching him dress hurriedly.

"Where the frak are you going?" she asked through gritted teeth, still feeling the aftereffects of the contraction.

"Cottle," he replied tersely, letting the door slam behind him. She slumped back on the pillows.

"Couldn't you wait just another week or so?" she asked her unborn child tiredly. "When we're on a ship and out of the mud? It would be so much warmer." _And much less dangerous_, she continued silently, remembering how the dream Six had so casually pulled the trigger.

Bill was back within five minutes, streaked with a liberal amount of mud and dragging an irritated Cottle behind him.

"It's not time," she insisted stubbornly, even as Cottle motioned Bill away from the foot of the bed and reached for the blankets. She endured the physical examination with ill grace, and within a short period of time Cottle had made his diagnosis.

"Too soon to tell," he said, pulling off the pair of gloves he had hastily donned. "Just let her sleep, Admiral," he advised Bill, whose face bore a very worried expression. "Leaping up at every twinge isn't going to do either of you much good."

He made to leave, and then stopped at the door. "By the way, Commander Adama came by to see me late last night." From the look on his face, it had been _very_ late last night. "He asked me how the president was doing- and he said 'Madame President', so he wasn't looking after Baltar's well being."

"Did you tell him anything?" Laura asked, who had stolen Bill's pillow and was trying to arrange herself in a more comfortable position.

"Doctor-patient confidentiality," he reminded her curtly. "Even if I had, anything I could have said would have been old news. Go back to sleep."

And with that, he was gone. Laura finally found a comfortable spot, and Bill was exchanging his mud-spattered clothing for a cleaner set when she suddenly moved to get up. As she moved past him toward the door, he looked after her in befuddlement. "Where are you going?"

"The bathroom," she answered shortly, ignoring him as he tagged after her, half-dressed, to the small bathroom on the other side of the building. It was one of the only indoor bathrooms in the settlement, and she reflected that she probably should have just moved into the school building months ago.

He followed her back to their room afterwards, watching silently as she searched again for the perfect spot. He slid back in next to her, and the moment she regained the presence of his body heat she decided to forgive him. After all, her mother had always told her never to go to bed angry. She curled a gentle hand around the curve of his shoulder, he gave a small sigh of what seemed to be relief, and she quickly fell back asleep.

* * *

_She was back on the ship, staring down at a bullet lying near her feet. Pulling up her shirt, she examined the round bruise that was beginning to form near her belly button, vaguely hearing Six's interested hum._

_"__The seer, the prophet, the martyr, the savior," Six murmured, taking a few steps toward her and bending to pick up the bullet. "Is it your dream that protects you, or the gods you hold so dear?"_

_Laura was definitely beginning to regret, at least in some part, the huge dose of chamalla that was evidently still playing havoc with her mind. "Why did you leave?" she asked, though she had fully intended to stay silent._

"_Because we could," was Six's answer as she tossed the bullet casually behind her. The Valerii look-a-like caught it neatly in one hand, and tucked it away in a pocket. "And because we were tired of catering to your whims."_

"_Isn't that why you originally rebelled?" Laura replied, tugging the hem of her shirt back down._

"_No." Six shrugged elegantly. "If only you were a less demanding species. Humans are so fascinating."_

"_Perhaps you could try being fascinated from afar," Laura suggested, her back flat against the cold wall. _

"_Perhaps you could try being a little more understanding," Six shot back. "After all, you are of our blood. You, Laura Roslin, are kin." She glanced down. "And so is that baby."_

* * *

This time, it was a heavy set of knocks that jolted Laura out of her dream- a dream she was heartily sick of, and hoped she would never have again- and it was she who reached the door first. This might have been because at some point in the night Bill had tangled himself rather hopelessly in the blankets (which, now that she thought about it, was probably her fault).

She opened the door to Apollo, who stood in the corridor with an almost sheepish look on his face. "Madame President."

"Lee." She stepped out into the hall and studied him for a moment. He'd been drinking, or at least she was pretty sure he had been. "I've missed you."

"You have?" he asked, looking a tad startled. "I've missed you, too."

She heard, in his voice, a twinge of emotion that said he was telling the truth. "Would you like to come in?" She glanced back at Bill, now untangled but still lurking near the bed, who looked resigned and ready for another battle.

"No," Lee replied quickly. "I suppose I just wanted to offer my… congratulations." He very nearly stumbled over the last word, but it may have been because he was still slightly inebriated. "On both the baby and the upcoming marriage."

She smiled slightly. "You'll forgive me for stealing your father's attention?"

He let out a quick laugh. "It was always yours anyway. Besides," he continued, looking down at her extended abdomen for the first time, with an expression that screamed of _I don't really want to look but it's so scarily fascinating in a sick way_ (Laura empathized with him, because that was much the same way she felt about large spiders), "he's the one who is really in trouble."

"He didn't give me anything I didn't want," she protested lightly, and then thought about how that might have sounded. She felt a slight blush begin to creep up her cheeks, and saw a similar flush spread across Apollo's face. Behind her, she heard Bill unsuccessfully try to muffle a laugh.

Lee took a step back at the sound of his father's laughter. "I'm sorry for waking you up," he said awkwardly, taking a few more steps down the hall. "I have to go organize… the civilians..."

"Stay safe, Lee," she called after him, and then stepped back into the room and shut the door. "That was easier than I expected," she commented blandly, ignoring the grin on Bill's face.

"I take it you've decided to marry me after all?" he asked, taking off his glasses and polishing the lenses on his shirt.

Oh. Apollo had mentioned that, hadn't he? Well.

"Only because your son expects you to make me an honest woman, and I don't want to get you in trouble with him," she replied with a straight face, and let a beat go by before she moved to stand in front of him. "The facts that I love you and I love our child and I want to spend the rest of my life with you anyway have absolutely nothing to do with it."

His hands landed lightly on her hips. "Remind me to thank him, someday," he said simply, a tear sliding down his scarred cheek. "And now I need to go and make sure work is being done." He stood. "If I walk with you to Starbuck's, will you try and rest?"

"Yes, provided you don't work yourself into the ground," she answered, wiping away his tear with her thumb. He would still work too hard, she knew, but if she could guilt him into going a bit easier on himself, then all for the better.

"You have a deal," he told her, just a tad grudgingly. Feeling a kick in her womb, she hurriedly grabbed his hand and placed it over the spot. The baby obligingly kicked again, and his somewhat disgruntled expression tempered. "I'll see you around noon," he added generously, and she smiled victoriously.

She turned to dress, and as she pulled off the shirt she had ended up sleeping in she caught a glance of her bulging stomach. She paused, one hand hovering over what looked to be a shadow of a bruise on her abdomen; the barest hint of discoloring.

_Maybe… it's not just the chamalla_, she thought, and quickly began to pull a sweater on. No need to let Bill see.

She didn't think she could answer any questions he might pose, anyway.


	16. Neither Here Nor Now

_I conversed with you in a dream_.

_-Sappho_

Laura was in the last group to be shuttled back to the fleet. This had been her decision, and, in fact, something that she had downright demanded after her entire quorum and her soon-to-be husband had attempted veto. Upon realizing that Laura Roslin just would not be moved on this particular subject, Adama and Tigh fine-tuned the entire moving operation so that it took roughly half the time they had originally expected. They had given the settlement a day to prepare for the coming abandonment of the planet. A little more than half the populace and the fleet were moved the next day, and everyone expected that the entire settlement would be back in the sky by nightfall of the third day, although Laura was sure that the chaos of resettling would last for weeks.

She was currently standing outside the school building, a small pile of bags at her feet and Starbuck and Hera at her side. Tigh and Lee were already safely in the air, having gone the day before to attempt keeping some kind of order- and Lee's leaving, in particular, made the situation somewhat less stressful. Laura thought that they had reached some sort of understanding, but the few times she had seen him around Starbuck the two had studiously ignored each other; Starbuck with a small crease on her forehead as if the entire situation pained her. Her expression had eased since Lee's departure, and though Laura hoped that their relationship would eventually mend itself, she got the impression that Starbuck would be very glad to be settled on Galactica, far away from Pegasus.

Meanwhile, Hera seemed to be totally unaffected by being uprooted from New Caprica. She sat amidst the bags, systematically shredding a few small leaves with the kind of mathematical precision that a surgeon would envy. Further, she seemed to be completely ignoring someone else who was near- Baltar, surrounded by armed guards, with Cottle nearby, a syringe at ready. While Baltar didn't seem to recognize Hera, he was watching her with intense concentration. It was enough to make Laura extremely doubting of his true mental state… and considering how doubtful she had been before, the fact that she could find more doubt within herself was rather amazing.

Another passenger ship landed, and Laura stubbornly stayed where she was until the last of the civilians (including Baltar and his entourage) boarded the ship. It was only at that point, when she, Starbuck, Hera, Bill, and a handful of soldiers were the only humans left on the ground, that she began moving toward the ship.

Unexpectedly, Bill grabbed her arm. She gave him a confused glance, noting as she did so the smug expression on Starbuck's face.

"What," Laura began slowly, "are the two of you up to?"

He answered her with a nod toward an incoming Raptor. "Did you really think I was going to put you on the same ship as Baltar?" he asked, somewhat incredulous.

"How silly of me," she deadpanned. "I don't know what I was thinking."

The passenger ship shut its doors and took off as their small group headed toward the Raptor, where they were met by the pilot- who ended up being Lee himself. Starbuck's worried expression immediately returned, and was not helped by the fact that she first had to give him Hera, and afterwards he personally helped her in.

Not that he looked that pleased, either; had he not been surrounded by his father and his president (not to mention future stepmother, at least technically), he might not have been so accommodating.

It was not until they had all been safely secured that Laura realized part of Starbuck's tension dealt not with Lee's presence, but with leaving the planet. Kara was leaning forward in her seat as far as she could, watching the rain through the canopy with an expression that was almost wistful.

"What are you thinking on?" Laura asked in a whisper, the sound of her voice blending smoothly with the technical conversation that Lee and the guards were in the midst of.

"Sammy," Kara confessed. "I just hate leaving him here." She shrugged, trying to cover the sudden threat of tears. "Course, we're leaving lots of people here." She distracted herself by holding Hera's hands away from various nearby controls as the small ship took off, only glancing back once more toward the canopy. "It's not right," she whispered, though Laura suspected that she was speaking to herself at this point. "Shouldn't be left like that."

Laura didn't think she could say much in reply; whenever someone had died in space they had been cremated and scattered out the airlock after the appropriate ceremony. In a way, she could see the meaning behind Starbuck's misery- most of the funerals conducted during their travels had always held some mention of how the scattered ashes became a part of the extended universe and were thus always with the fleeing populace. She had, at times, found the explanation too sentimental; now she saw the comfort in it. Better to be scattered and given to space than to be left in the cold mud, far away.

Starbuck's mind seemed to have been cycling through the same set of thoughts, because a few minutes later found her weeping silently into Hera's hair. The fleet members quieted, Bill reached over to lay a hand on the young woman's back, and Laura wondered what Apollo was thinking as he stared straight ahead, into the black.

This was how the colonies left New Caprica.

* * *

The moment Laura officially set foot on Galactica, she was met by yet another staring crowd, this time filled mainly with fleet members who had been left to attend the ships while the settlement was rescued. Starbuck stepped out beside her, Hera on her hip, her face still bearing testament to her small bout of tears in the Raptor. Being back on Galactica seemed to do her some good as well, because as soon as her boots touched metal she visibly straightened with a somewhat calmer expression.

This was temporary. Kara eyed the small crowd with obvious alarm as an amazing thing happened: they completely switched their focus from their president to Starbuck, not bothering to hide their amazement (and in some cases, amusement) at the sight of their most reckless and tomboyish comrade bearing a child on her hip and another in her belly.

"I didn't even know she _liked_ children," Laura thought she heard from somewhere nearby.

Starbuck quickly hid her alarm, looking as if she was about to put her shepherding skills to use. In the end, her skills weren't necessary; simply seeing the Adama men exit the Raptor had a significant portion of the crowd dispersing.

Laura glanced at Starbuck, then at Lee, before decidedly grabbing Starbuck's hand and towing her in the direction of Bill's quarters- hers now as well, she realized happily. "We're going to go rest," she said firmly before the men were out of earshot. "You can tell Kara where she'll be living later."

They were halfway to their destination before Starbuck spoke up. "I never thought I'd be so frakking glad to be back on the Bucket."

"You aren't the only one," Laura muttered, waiting while Kara lifted Hera off her hip to the floor, grabbing the toddler's hand before she could veer off and cause destruction. Hera followed them complacently enough after that, easily keeping pace.

Deeper into the ship, Laura's mood turned reflective. Galactica had not been new for quite some time- she had been officially decommissioned right before they fled, after all- but for the first time she looked her age.

"Not enough crew for optimum upkeep," Starbuck noted from beside her, running her fingers nostalgically over a battered wall. "But," she continued optimistically, "enough people and we can get her looking like herself again." She examined a burnt out light and shrugged. "Looks like a lot of basic, little problems."

"Good, because if we had to go back planet side because of burned out light bulbs, then I would be plenty unhappy." Laura reached Bill's door and fondly touched the exterior before opening it. "But that is neither here nor now." She shut the door behind Starbuck, who immediately released Hera to cause destruction.

"Remember," she called after Hera, "pillage first, set fire second."

"Handy tip," Laura commented dryly, watching as Hera veered straight for an overflowing bookshelf. Keeping an eye on the exuberant toddler, she carefully lowered herself onto the couch.

Starbuck did the same, releasing a contented sigh as she did so. "Thank the gods. Luxury, at last."

"No rain."

"No mud. No wind. Frakking fabulous."

They watched idly as Hera pulled a few books off the shelf and toyed with them briefly, _what the Hades are these things?_ playing across her face.

"You really going to take the presidency back?" Starbuck asked suddenly, trying to tempt Hera away from the books with one of the throw pillows (Hera wasn't buying that act).

"Do I have a choice?" Laura shook her head, feeling a twinge of remorse. Frankly, it would be nice to pass on her duties- especially with miracle baby on the way- but she didn't think the populace would trust anyone else anytime soon. She didn't have a candidate, anyway (gods forbid she try to find one; Zarek would probably start up another campaign).

She wished that she did, though. Sooner or later, when everything settled down and people returned to old habits and ways of life, her relationship with Bill would come back under fire. When that happened… well, it wasn't as if she could distance herself from him at that point, even if she wanted to (and she most assuredly didn't, child or no child).

"Besides, I plan on delegating most of my duties amongst my quorum," she continued blandly, taking a wicked sort of glee in Starbuck's sudden, stricken spluttering.

"But- but- but-"

"I thought you wanted me to go easier on myself," Laura reminded her slyly. "And you'll need something that you can do while watching the children."

Hera seemed to find her guardian's new state of mind fascinating. As Starbuck continued to voice her indignation, Hera climbed up into her lap and, quite suddenly, reached out and grabbed Kara's nose.

Starbuck snapped her mouth shut, staring down the child, who stared back quite seriously. Laura was extremely amused, and it was at this moment, with her cackling and the other two engaged in a silent showdown, that Bill entered his quarters.

He gave the small group a curious look, but entered the head without comment.

Starbuck spoke up a few minutes later. "She grabbed my nose," she deadpanned in a stuffed-up tone, glancing over at Laura with Hera's hand still attached to the feature in question.

"You have a nice nose," Laura offered noncommittally, her laughter almost under control.

Hera finally released her grip, and scrambled off to find other trouble. Starbuck rubbed a finger over her slightly abused nose, smiling ruefully. "She's got a good grip."

"Are you done being hysterical?" Bill called from the other half of the room, still behind the divide.

"For the moment," Starbuck answered casually.

"Did you know your charge is currently invading my closet?" he asked, sounding neither amused nor annoyed. He rounded the corner, carrying one of his dress jackets- Hera was attached to the other end, gripping a sleeve stubbornly.

Laura looked up, and immediately broke into a pleased smile. "Thank you," she said fervently, referring to his now smooth upper lip. He gave her a minute smile, and then turned back to the problem at hand while Kara snickered.

"May I have that?" he asked Hera seriously, stooping to her level. She dropped her end of the sleeve, and as he stood she attached herself to one of his legs, looking up at him with an expression that was close to adoration.

"Dear gods," Starbuck said, amidst her laughter, "what a fabulous development."

Laura wasn't much better; having dissolved into laughter the moment Hera turned the full force of her charm. She waved away Bill's pleading look, hiding her head in one hand while she tried to collect herself. When she had imagined her first day back on Galactica, it had not included an attack of the giggles. She supposed that this was merely the result of the immense relief currently flooding through her nervous system. Finally heading toward earth, finally home.

It was, she thought as Bill reluctantly untangled himself from Hera's grasp and lifted her up into his arms, a good place to finally be.

* * *

_Six looked up from the desk where she was sitting, a pile of paperwork in front of her. "Oh, you're back," she commented, pushing the stack aside. "Take a seat. You shouldn't be on your feet."_

_Though Laura really did want to sit down, she found that she much preferred to stand while in the same room as Six. "Am I dreaming again?"_

"_You have the most interesting mind," Six said in reply. "It's always doing things I can't explain. And yes, technically you probably are dreaming."_

"_Are you going to shoot me again?"_

"_What good would that do? A waste of bullets."_

"_Well." Laura took a look around the room- just as perfect as the hallway she had seen, except for the slight mess on the desk. "I don't suppose you'd inform me of your plan?"_

"_I'm not stupid," Six replied shortly, picking up another piece of paper with an aggravated jerking motion of her arm. "You may not believe that this is real, but that doesn't mean I'm going to tell you anything." She leveled a glare at Laura. "Who knows what you'll discover snooping."_

_Laura sighed. "Then what's going on with me?"_

"_I haven't got a frakking clue. Do you know how awkward that is? To be a Cylon and not understand your own reality?"_

"_I feel for you. Really." Laura turned and started to march out the door, and then paused to examine a picture hanging on the wall. "Art?"_

"_We're appreciative of many things," Six huffed._

_Laura leaned a bit closer to the painting, trying to find meaning in the brush strokes. "Abstract?" She took a step back, and realization struck her: the painting was upside down. She turned it 180 degrees, ignoring Six's outraged comments. _

_Laura took another step back, and then turned to Six with a questioning expression. "…You appreciate a strange kind of art."_

_Six shrugged. "You're one to talk."_

_And fade to black._

* * *

Laura woke in Bill's rack a few hours after the Hera debacle, having slipped off for a nap an hour or so earlier. She could hear Bill and Hera chattering quietly in the other room, and when she joined them she realized why Starbuck had seemed mysteriously absent: she was curled up on one end of the couch, completely asleep. Hera was perched on Bill's lap on the other end of the couch, whispering with him and playing some sort of complicated game of "you grab my nose, I'll grab yours."

Noses, it seemed, were Hera's newest obsession… along with Bill.

Bill scooted over as she approached, giving her room to sit. "They launched the warheads a half hour ago," he told her quietly, pressing his hands briefly over Hera's ears. "It's done, by now."

She nodded, resigned. "Then let it be." Hera reached out a small hand, and Laura obligingly leaned close enough that her nose was in reach.

"She's a bit obsessed," Bill noted as Hera displayed her grip once more.

"Understatement," Laura replied, muffled. "Have we jumped yet?"

"Ten minutes ago. We're almost back on track."

Hera released Laura's nose and let out a short yawn. She blinked sleepily up at Bill.

"Just like clockwork," Laura commented. "Her nap schedule is set in stone."

Starbuck shifted at the other end of the couch, her eyes fluttering open. "She out?" she asked in a raspy voice.

"Almost," Laura answered, watching as Hera drooped against Bill's chest.

Starbuck pushed herself into a sitting position, blinking against the light. "I had the weirdest dream," she said with a yawn. "I was talking to Six on a ship- and she said you insulted her taste in art." She yawned again.

_Frakking fabulous_, Laura thought, and kept her mouth shut.


	17. Nesting

_Full appeared the moon_

_and when they around the altar took their places._

_-Sappho_

_"I can't say that I really understand what you see in him," Six commented, and Laura looked down at herself- she was dressed, rather miraculously, but even from the state of her clothing she could tell that she looked thoroughly tousled. "Isn't physical attraction supposed to play a large part in love? Or does your sense of what is attractive age as you age?"_

_Laura figured that she wouldn't take 'if you have to ask, you'll never know,' as an answer. "What do you find attractive, then?" she asked, crossing her arms somewhat defensively over her chest._

_Six looked taken aback. "The Cylon equivalent of 'attractive' is different than the human," she said quickly, in the kind of tone that Laura thought meant she hadn't a clue. "We're not bound by outward trappings," she continued in a steadier voice. "We look to the mind."_

"_Then why are you asking me how I find him attractive?" Laura shot back, then shook her head in disgust. "I can't believe I'm having this conversation," she muttered, and willed herself to wake up. It didn't work._

"_Have you talked to Galactica Sharon, yet?" Six asked a moment later. "Or Helo? Hera is their daughter, after all, not Captain Thrace's."_

"_I thought you said she was your daughter," Laura replied dryly, beginning to walk toward the desk. Immediately, Six jumped between her and the piece of furniture._

"_She is the only daughter of our people." Six said, pressing forward until Laura was forced to take a few steps back. "Elder, mother, daughter. The ancient triangle that forms most matrilineal religions. You share the blood of Sharon and Hera. You are Sharon's elder, though you are also a mother. A female trinity." Six smiled wickedly as Laura looked at her with sharp, sudden awareness. "How did you miss that, Laura Roslin?"_

_Laura thought rapidly about the epiphany, trying to fit it into place with the whole mess they were in to begin with. "Stop."_

"_Excuse me?"_

"_If I'm supposed to be part of your precious trinity, then stop frakking following us."_

_Six's expression looked rather sad. "We go where we are needed… and in search of what we need."_

_And it was after that startling bit of information that Laura, quite unexpectedly, woke up. _

* * *

Bill's rack certainly wasn't the most comfortable bed in the universe, but compared to her bed on New Caprica it was about as good as things got. Besides, he was still curled up behind her, and she could hear the gentle hum of Galactica all around her. The lack of rain and wind was a beautiful, beautiful thing.

Another wonderful thing was the close proximity to a private head. She managed to get up without waking him- which was either a testament to his exertions the previous night or a sign that he was faking sleep- and donned his hastily doffed dress shirt. Of course, in her state it barely reached her hips and didn't button over her stomach at all, and upon her return she found Bill awake and appreciating those very facts.

"I love your suits," he told her, propped up on one elbow, "but I think I like this look even better."

She gave him a glare that was only tempered by her appreciation of his appreciation for her. "I'm sure the crew would enjoy it too," she replied blandly, enjoying the dark look that swept across his face at the thought. She had never expected to end up with a man this possessive, but in a way she rather enjoyed his occasional flares of jealousy, if only because she completely understood the emotion. Really, she was just as possessive about him as he was about her, so it all worked out very nicely.

She sat heavily next to him on the rack. "I may never fit into my suits again," she said a bit wistfully, but then cheered up just a tad. "Do you think I could get away with old slacks and blouses for the rest of my term?"

"Fine with me. Fewer members of the crew drooling over your legs." He had sat up and moved behind her, rubbing his hands in concentric circles over her belly after slipping his arms around her torso. "How are you feeling?"

She gave a tiny shrug, leaning back into him. "Chilly." One corner of her mouth quirked up in a sad smile. "It will be a while before I'm warm again. Oh, right there." She stretched slightly in encouragement as he massaged one stubborn spot.

"Is there anything you need?" he asked worriedly.

"Just what you're giving me." She felt her eyes beginning to slip shut, again, and reluctantly pulled away. "I wish I wasn't so frakking tired."

"I think you can be forgiven," was his dry retort, and he moved over to his small closet. As he rifled briefly through the contents, she took a moment to appreciate him. Unlike herself, he had not bothered to pull anything on before venturing into the open air.

He drew out some various articles and dropped them on her lap before turning to gather his own clothing for the day. She unfolded the clothing and discovered a thick pair of sweatpants, socks, tanks, and a soft, warm sweater that she suspected he wore only when he was alone in his quarters. In any case, it smelled faintly of him, and after dressing she found herself if not warm, definitely no longer cold.

And although her wardrobe was far from presidential, she knew that her duties waited. Thus, with some difficulty she pulled on her shoes and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" Bill asked, observing her determined path to the exit.

"To do presidential type things." She turned at the door, looking weary at the thought of the many tasks that awaited her. "Settling families, breaking up controversy, figuring out what the hell to do with Baltar… the usual."

He dropped the papers he had been examining onto his desk, and quickly pulled on his jacket. "I insist you take regular breaks and stay off your feet as much as possible," he informed her as he moved closer, buttoning his jacket with rapid fingers.

"I doubt that will be a problem," she sighed, already feeling like she'd much rather be sitting.

He eyed her with a knowing gaze. "You can hold court here."

"No, I need to see with my own eyes whatever I can." She offered him her arm. "Make yourself useful," she added with a smile.

As they headed down the hallway at a slow, gentle pace, he gave her a small smile. "Even in my sweats, you still look absolutely in control."

"I was thinking that I looked hugely pregnant and shaky, but I like your vision better," she joked, and spotted a familiar dark head coming at a fast clip down the corridor. "Ah, Hera."

The child made a quick grab for Bill's legs, and then looked up to give him a huge grin before chattering a good morning. Starbuck finally caught up with the girl, barely breathing hard, and looking just as rosy and healthy as a woman her age had the right to look.

"You look wonderful," Laura told her honestly, and Starbuck gave her a quick glance.

"You look horrid. Did he keep you up all night?" she replied with her usual tact. Kara tugged Hera far enough from Bill that he could walk without tripping over the exuberant child.

"I'm fine," Laura insisted, beginning to feel a tad defensive. "Just a bit tired."

"In the same way that New Caprica was a bit muddy. Maybe you should go see Doc."

Starbuck's suggestion was not received with much appreciation, though Kara didn't seem to mind. A night's rest seemed to have stabilized her; sliding her back into normal _Hades if I care what everyone else says_ mode. Laura envied Kara her sudden easy grace.

"Where are you quartered?" Laura asked her, hiding a small smile as Hera grabbed onto Bill's free hand.

"Just down the hall a bit," Kara replied, holding securely to Hera's other hand. "Small, but comfortable. And just close enough for Hera to come visit her favorite person every day." The last was said with a sly, cheeky grin, directed toward her father figure.

Bill just looked stoic, and ignored her inference. As they approached CIC, which bustled with various officers, he quietly disentangled his hand from Hera's. Instead of breaking into tears or staying with Starbuck, she ducked Kara's restraining hands and scurried after Bill. He noticed, and sent them a small shrug.

"Is this part of raising her right?" Starbuck asked Laura in an amused murmur, as Bill made his way to a cluster of higher ranked officers near the center of the room. "Letting her know her way around CIC from an early age?"

"I think he's trying to build a foundation of trust," Laura replied thoughtfully, stealing a nearby seat from an absent officer. She slid her eyes closed and rubbed her forehead gently.

Starbuck watched Laura's actions with silent concern, but decided not to comment on it… yet. "Maybe we could… deprogram her."

"Assuming the programming would even be part of a hybrid child." Laura thought about what she had just said, and shook her head ruefully. "I'm sure she is programmed. Perhaps Cottle could take a look at her."

"He has before." Starbuck gave a friendly wave to a passing fleet member, today enjoying the double take that had unnerved her the night before. "I feel like I've done something so naughty," she confided to Laura with a grin, sidetracked. "Anyway, we can't just lobotomize her."

"Of course not. Maybe…" Laura trailed off in thought, remembering the stacks of information inside Six's office that she had yet to get her hands on.

Within a matter of moments, she was scoffing silently at herself for placing too much trust in what were probably hormone-induced dreams.

But then, they were awfully consistent, and there was the small matter of her bruise. And, of course, Starbuck's own dream.

"Kara," Laura began slowly, ignoring the officer who waited just out of earshot, who looked uncertain of what to do when the pregnant head of state steals one's seat. "How have you been sleeping?"

The good-humored expression on Starbuck's face faded somewhat. "Not well," she admitted. "Hera is a good sleeper, but it's hard to sleep without Sammy, even here where it's constantly warm. Bad dreams." The last was spoken with hesitance.

Laura wasted no time in trying to ply the truth out of her. "Six?" she offered softly, her eyes on Bill as he began winding his way back to them.

Kara gave her a keen glance. "You've had this dream, too."

"Yes," confirmed Laura quietly, and gave Starbuck a warning glance as Bill came closer- _he doesn't know_.

"The situation is actually better than we had expected," Bill informed them, Hera tagging faithfully after him. "There have been a few disagreements among the civilians- only one actual brawl, though, and no fatalities from that. For now, it seems as if everyone is willing to just go back to their old quarters." He grimaced, slightly. "And of course, we have just a bit more room than we used to, thanks to the time planet side."

A sobering thought. They had lost so many to normal, run of the mill illnesses, even before the insurrection, that Laura no longer knew how many people were still alive. "I want a head count," she said, looking up at him. "I don't care how they do it; I just want to know how many people we have left."

He gave her a tiny smile. "I figured that. You'll have your numbers within a few days."

Realizing (rather, finally acknowledging) that she was probably holding up some vital part of the fleet by continuing to block the machine behind her, she reached out in a silent request for a hand, and he helped her up. "Now that you know the fleet hasn't dissolved into total anarchy, will you go back to bed?" he asked.

"No." She sighed. "Take me to the civilians."

His look was almost disbelief. "Are you nesting?" he asked suspiciously, and Starbuck unsuccessfully tried to muffle a snort of laughter.

Laura restrained herself from saying anything regrettable.

_It's going to be a long day_, she told herself silently as she greeted the first family they came across, feeling the watchful eyes of both Bill and Starbuck on her. And she was, in fact, right, although not in the way she expected. After several hours of what she stubbornly deemed false contractions, she eventually had one that she simply could not hide while Starbuck was off putting Hera down for a nap. Bill, as expected, grumbled quietly about her willfulness all the way to the infirmary, where Cottle officially announced her to be in the early stages of labor... and then promptly told her to get the frak out of his infirmary until she was having _real_ contractions.

She fully expected to be reduced to throwing things before the day was out.


	18. The Whole Ordeal

_Do I still yearn for my virginity?_

_ -Sappho_

Laura had, of course, been _warned_ about labor plenty of times in her life- family, coworkers, strangers on the street- but actually experiencing the whole ordeal made her finally appreciate all of the stories that ended with: "…and then I shot him dead."

She was beginning to realize that however mercurial she had been during her pregnancy, it was nothing compared to how she felt right now; and most especially, how she felt about Bill. She loved him, although right now she hated him. Within a few minutes she was sure she would love him again. And through this entire cycle, she would be walking. Cottle, in fact, had ordered her to walk, and she had to admit that it helped. Staying still just made her feel extremely antsy; walking made her feel like she was accomplishing something. Even if that 'something' was only the populace's suspicion that she might be going crazy- though to be fair, it seemed that eight out of every ten women of normal childbearing age merely gave her a knowing look as she waddled past, Bill trailing behind.

He seemed at a slight loss of what to do. Though he had gone through this twice before, he had this look on his face of _why isn't this going the way I expected?_ Earlier he had tried to give the impression that he understood what she was going through; now he had completely abandoned the act. She was glad of it.

She stopped in her tracks, reaching out instinctively for him when she felt another contraction building. He was at her back almost immediately, having figured out within the last hour or so that it was just best to stay out of her way until she needed him, and if he couldn't tell when she needed him then she would frakking _tell_ him- but it would really be better for all involved if he just knew.

As the contraction ebbed, she rocked slightly in his grasp before taking another deep breath and pulling away. "Are you sure you've done this before?" she snapped, plowing straight down the hallway.

"Actually, I haven't."

Gods, she hated when he used that calm, patient tone with her. She hated it even more than when she assumed something so basic and turned out to be wrong. "You weren't there for Lee?"

"Or Zak. It wasn't exactly _done_, in my family. Besides, I was in the service."

She looked back at him quickly, feeling assured that when it came to pedestrian traffic, _nobody_ would be bumping into her, accidentally or otherwise. She could walk backwards for the next hour, and the walls would probably rearrange themselves to avoid her, such was the power of Laura Roslin's will. "What, did they send you to a bar?" she asked, her voice ragged.

"I was away, both times," he informed her. "But I got free drinks for a week afterward."

"How happy for you," she muttered, and lowered herself onto a nearby chair. She would rest, and walk, and rest, and walk, and maybe someday Cottle would actually let her push. That distant time in the future seemed almost mythic to Laura, at this point.

Bill fetched a small glass of water, which he offered Laura silently. She took a few sips, and then grasped his hand before he walked away. "Rub my forehead?" she asked, feeling another contraction approach. As he gently massaged her temples, she concentrated on riding the fluctuating pain. "So," she asked as the pain ebbed, "how long before you were able to get home?"

"With Zak, a week," he replied as she began to barely relax, her eyes slipping closed. "With Lee, it was about a month. And I left pretty soon after that." He kissed her forehead. "I'm very glad to be here with you."

Her eyes opened quickly and she tilted her head back slightly, staring up at him. "Not going to leave this time, right?" she asked, feeling herself slip right back into snappish and defensive, fear roiling through her nervous system. He would leave her and something would go wrong with the labor and-

"No," he stated firmly, and his declaration settled a frisson of the fear.

"All right," she said, taking in a few more breaths, and then thrust her hand toward him. "I need to walk again."

Wordlessly he helped her up, and she allowed him to hold one of her hands until the next contraction began. As soon as that one ended, she resumed forging ahead unattached.

Roughly four hours, seven rests, and two private breakdowns later, Laura's water broke in the middle of a main hallway. She paused in shock, staring at the puddle beneath her, and then looked back at Bill with all the authority she could muster when exhausted and publicly humiliated- though she didn't care much about the latter at the moment- and announced, "I'm going to the infirmary."

At that, a few women with an obvious maternal air about them decisively surrounded her, one tucking a blanket around Laura's shoulders and the others quietly clucking over her shaking hands as they shepherded her toward the infirmary, Bill following close behind.

Cottle took one look at Laura, taking in her exhausted mien and wet pants in a quick glance. "Lie down for a moment," he ordered, and gave a curt nod to the women who had come in with her. "Thank you, ladies."

Bill managed a distracted nod of thanks as they left, hurrying to help strip Laura of her sweats and underwear.

"Oh, good," Cottle commented from the business end of things. "Nine centimeters. Stay here, get comfortable."

"Isn't this taking too long?" Bill asked him, handing Laura another pillow from a nearby closet as she attempted to situate herself.

"You have two kids, Admiral," Cottle reminded him. "You should know by now that childbirth exists on no set schedule. And Laura's doing fine. Aren't you?"

Her answer was an inarticulate growl as she crested a contraction.

Cottle laughed. "Women have been doing this since the dawn of time, and even though you're a bit old for this sort of thing-"

"_Thanks,_" was her snarled contribution.

"-you're still doing fine. It's amazing, really." He leaned back against a counter, looking as if he was pontificating to a group of students. "Your temperature is barely normal, you have a slight case of malnutrition, and yet for some reason you're doing beautifully. Either you are a natural wonder of mankind, or Hera's blood did a real number on you."

"I need another blanket," she demanded suddenly, her teeth beginning to chatter. After three, she had yet to feel a difference, and she sent Bill a pleading glance. "Sit with me."

Two minutes later, she was feeling slightly warmer after being wrapped in his arms, but felt overcrowded and made him leave. After ten minutes passed, the same situation repeated itself.

"Don't lose your patience," Laura heard Ishay mutter to Bill in a warning, as he was thrust away for a second time. "Never lose your patience with a woman in labor."

_A woman in labor is a woman a step away from death_, Laura suddenly remembered her grandmother saying, and frantically reached out for Bill again. She wondered if he was beginning to rejoice in his good fortune for being away during the birth of his sons. But then, she suddenly thought, maybe she was just really bad at this. Maybe his first two wives had been calm and quiet and never felt like they were about to die from lack of sleep and the pain.

As the contraction ebbed to something more manageable, she found herself clutching the front of Bill's undone jacket (she dimly remember grabbing it a bit too hard an hour or so earlier) and sobbing something unintelligible into his shoulder, something that sounded like a cross between a plea for forgiveness and a plea not to leave. After she passed through the next contraction, she pulled away slightly, feeling as if her entire body was about to shake apart.

"Ready to push?" she suddenly heard Cottle ask her, and before she could answer- she suspected he didn't care whether she was ready or not, anyway- he had instructed Ishay and Bill to prop her up slightly and hold her legs back. "Curl your chin to your chest, if you can," he told her, and she did her best to comply, though the position seemed to be the most awkward one she could possibly be in at the moment. On either side of her, Ishay and Bill held her legs back in what felt like iron grips. Bill released one hand to stroke her hair back from her face, and she let out a weary groan as he replaced the hand, ensuring his hold.

Laura had this vague idea that she would push for maybe ten minutes, and then everything would wrap up pretty quickly after that. Forty minutes _after_ the first ten minutes, she was still pushing, and silently cursing herself for watching too much television in her college days. On the brighter side, she had gotten a second wind at some point near the beginning, and she found that she _really_ liked pushing. Pushing, in fact, felt pretty damn good.

Still, even with gaining the second wind, Laura could rapidly feel herself reaching the point of complete exhaustion. Bill, by the looks of him, was feeling much the same way, but she had very little sympathy for his mental turmoil. If _she_ had to stick around and finish this, then he was most assuredly going to see through the rest with her.

When the baby's head finally crowned- _oh gods that frakking burns oh gods_- she felt his grip tighten around her leg, the slight pain not even registering as a twinge at this point. Whatever he was feeling, she was nearing the end and knew it, and even when the shoulders turned out to be more of a problem than the head, she was past the point of caring. And once the shoulders slid free, the rest of the baby did so easily.

She slumped back against the pillows, breathing raggedly, watching as Cottle ensured that her child would breathe, hearing the barely whispered prayer from Bill beside her. She wanted to see his face, but she couldn't seem to tear her eyes from the baby. When the healthy cry came, her breath caught in her throat as she sent a grateful blessing to the gods. Cottle cut and bound the cord, and then handed the baby to Ishay to be weighed.

"Not quite through yet, Laura," he informed her, pushing back the leg that Ishay had been stationed at. "Just a few more pushes, and the placenta will be out. Not too enthusiastic, now."

Her gaze still locked on Ishay and the still-crying baby, she did as she was told, barely noticing when her job was done. Ishay came over to her, the baby tucked in a small blanket, and placed the bundle carefully in Laura's arms.

The baby- their baby, she realized, shocked now that she was finally staring this tiny person in the face- dimmed the wail from full-blown to half-hearted, and finally ceased screaming completely. Blue eyes in a fluid-streaked and wrinkled face met her own, a scattering of dark hair over the scalp.

"Wow," she heard, distantly, and it took a moment to realize that she had been the one to speak.

"Seven pounds, four ounces," Cottle informed her as she stared. "And a girl. Could have sworn that you only threw boys, Bill. I'm going to be losing a lot of money on this."

She couldn't even be sure Bill had heard; he merely took a seat next to her and slid his arms around her, instead, so that she could sit up.

Gods above. She had a daughter. They had a daughter. Lee, incredibly enough, had a half-sister.

Their girl proffered a small hand, and instinctively Laura offered her right index finger for the baby to grasp. Her daughter's tiny hand closed around her finger, the girl's skin petal soft and warm.

"Clotho," Laura breathed, some force in her mind digging deep into her ancient history lessons. "Clotho Hestia Adama."

Bill's arms tightened slightly around her, and she felt him place a soft kiss on the side of her forehead. "Well named," he whispered, and silence fell again.

* * *

_"I have to wonder," Six mused, staring down at Clotho's tiny face, "which daughter it will be."_

_Laura took a step back from the woman, feeling stronger in her dreams than in real life. "What are you talking about?" _

"_Elder, mother, daughter." Six shrugged, and took a seat. "I thought that you were the elder, Sharon the mother, and Hera the daughter. Maybe I spoke too soon."_

_Clotho stirred in Laura's arms, her face smooth and perfect now. Her tiny mouth opened in a soundless yawn. "I've given the gods my life," Laura said with quiet determination. "I will not give them my child's."_

"_You may not have a choice," Six replied in a slightly scolding tone. "If you are the mother, then she is the daughter. That is the way such things work."_

"_Not this time," Laura began to say, but was interrupted by her sudden departure._

* * *

Laura heard later, after waking up and while experiencing the (somewhat painful) joy of breastfeeding her daughter, that the fleet had taken the birth of Clotho as an excuse to drink themselves silly and cause some mild mayhem. This was not particularly surprising, especially given that the populace had still not had the chance to celebrate leaving New Caprica on a large scale. When told that a number of pockets were emptied that morning upon the news that the Admiral had, somehow, sired a daughter, Laura simply smiled and went back to admiring her child.

Clotho was, by whatever blessing of the gods, perfect and whole. Cottle even marveled aloud at the fact, but had tactfully refrained from suggesting that he be allowed to take more blood than had been needed to run the basic tests. Maybe some day in the future she would let him, but for the moment she didn't intend to let Clotho out of her sight.

Neither, it seemed, did Bill. Except for a few minutes stolen to announce the birth officially and take care of other necessities, he had stayed with them since the birth. While Laura had slept, he had taken his daughter into his arms and spent the time doing what they had both been doing since she first made her appearance in the world: checking fingers and toes, and in general marveling over her perfection. They had even spent a brief period of time playfully arguing over who the baby resembled more (not surprisingly, Laura insisted that she looked like Bill, who in turn insisted that she was the exact image of Laura). Even knowing his depth of love for herself, Laura was still a bit surprised at how much he obviously loved their tiny daughter- but then again, she had never dreamed that she could love a child this deeply and completely.

All in all, though, it was Lee's reaction to Clotho that Laura found the most touching. He had entered the room hesitantly, looking even more hesitant when he heard what was the second go-round of _she looks more like you._

"Lee." Laura gave him a bright smile, praying that this meeting would go smoothly. "I'm glad you're here."

He gave her a small smile, moved closer to the bed, and stood on the side opposite his father. Lee peered down at Clotho's tiny face for a moment, which stretched into a full minute, which looked to continue on in that fashion. Laura, somewhat reluctant to let go but all for family bonding, gently but determinedly handed Lee his half-sibling.

He looked almost frightened, for a moment, as he tried to reassure himself that he wasn't going to drop the child or hurt her. Finally, he said in a low voice, "She's beautiful."

"I think so," Laura replied, "but then, I am rather biased."

He gave her an actual smile, the first since before she lost the election. "You would be. You know, I always wanted a sister," he said wryly.

"So glad we could oblige you," Bill said dryly, but with more than his usual hint of affection. Apollo noticed, and Laura turned her gaze slightly aside to give him a moment to recover. She took the time to give Bill an approving glance.

Clotho found her brother immensely fascinating, and much like she had with both of her parents, she solemnly offered a small hand to him, like a visiting dignitary. When Lee allowed her to grasp one of his fingers, a full out grin spread over his face. "I can't wait until you're older, and I get to help dad chase off your boyfriends."

Bill let out a small groan of despair. "Try not to spoil this happy day, Lee."

Lee looked unrepentant, but still managed a not-quite sincere apology. He then carefully handed Clotho back to Laura, looking surer of himself, but still a bit sheepish. "Madame President-"

"Lee, if you ever call me Madame President again when I'm not being official, then I might just shoot you," she interjected smoothly, and Bill let out a small laugh.

"You're getting off easy," Bill muttered, remembering some of the more virulent threats she had made much earlier in the day.

"Uh, Ms. Roslin- Laura-" he paused, still stumbling over the issue of what the frak he was supposed to call her. "Thank you," he finally said, and she looked away from Clotho to meet his eyes. "For your tireless work with the colonies, and also for what you've done for us." He made a vague gesture, encompassing Clotho, herself, and presumably his somewhat steadier relationship with his father. "I'm very pleased to have you as part of our family."

She gave a contented hum. Nothing like a newborn to mend fences, she mused, and with her free hand she pulled him close enough to press a kiss to his forehead. "Thank you, Lee."

He blushed, slightly. Except for Clotho, it might have been one of the cutest things she had ever seen.


	19. Night Wanderers

_I have a beautiful child who is like golden flowers_

_in form, darling Kleis_

_in exchange for whom I would not…_

_ …all Lydia or lovely…_

_-Sappho_

Laura finally saw Starbuck a few hours after Lee's visit, well after Apollo had returned to Pegasus. Laura suspected that the delay in Starbuck's visit was merely a desire to remain least in sight when it came to Lee, although she couldn't be entirely sure of this. Hera, for instance, looked more than a little perturbed when Kara brought her in. It was entirely possible that she had given Starbuck a bad afternoon, evening, and morning.

One look at Bill, though, and Hera was back to smiling. The change was so evident that he even volunteered to take her for a walk, which served Laura's purposes well. She needed to have a talk with Starbuck, after all.

But first, there was the obligatory meeting of Clotho. Clotho herself slept through the actual meeting, and Laura got the feeling from Starbuck's expression that she had been expecting a far less innocuous creature.

"She's just like Hera," Laura informed Kara calmly, "just a good deal younger."

Starbuck held Clotho stiffly, without the easy grace she had with her doe-eyed charge. "I never realized quite how fragile newborns were," she replied, her voice beginning to sound strained. "Or how tiny… hard to tell, when you aren't holding them." She smiled nervously. "Hera's indestructible."

Laura took Clotho back before Starbuck could become even jitterier. "Calm down. You are completely capable of caring for an infant."

Starbuck took a seat at the end of Laura's bed, tapping her stomach lightly in an absentminded fashion. "Sure. I'll adapt, right?" Her expression was close to the one she wore upon leaving New Caprica- a mix of fear, loss, and frustration.

Clotho grizzled quietly in her sleep, attracting Starbuck's attention. "She looks like you," Kara offered. "Except I think she has his nose."

Laura had decided to opt out on this game for the foreseeable future. "Tell me about your dreams, Kara."

Starbuck shot her a wry look. "No more small talk, huh? Okay. I keep ending up on this ridiculously neat ship- Cylon, definitely- and occasionally running into Six. Usually I just spend my time wandering around an empty engine room."

"I always end up in her office," Laura murmured. "She won't let me read her papers."

"Of course not," Starbuck scoffed. "Why would she? No sense in giving you an advantage. I haven't seen anything, either."

"What about other Cylons?"

"Just Six. It's like a frakking ghost ship." Starbuck paused, her gaze drifting to Clotho. "I dreamed about her this afternoon, while Hera was napping." She looked up. "Elder, mother, daughter."

Laura nodded slowly. "She's said much the same to me."

"She said that she still can't figure out who the mother is."

"Me or Sharon," Laura finished.

Kara shook her head. "No. She said me, too."

Laura scowled. "She's just full of grim proclamations, isn't she?"

"Yep." Suddenly, Kara grinned. "And you were right, whatever you told her- Six has awful taste in art."

They had not discussed the matter in the entirety, but Laura figured that it would have to do for the moment- especially as she could hear Hera's giggle just a short distance away. Starbuck heard, as well, and turned slightly to see the door.

"She's sweet," Starbuck said, and then chuckled quietly and rubbed her forehead. "I never wanted to be a mother."

Laura had read an abbreviated version of Starbuck's file- again, the original was moldering on Caprica, just like Bill's- but she knew enough about her past to know that this was a touchy subject. "Sometimes it's the people who want it the least who do the best with the job," she replied mildly, and, after a moment of thought, silently reoffered Clotho to her.

Starbuck hesitated a beat before taking Clotho back into her arms. Her hold was not yet graceful, but she looked significantly more at ease than the first time. "So. Can I teach her how to pilot?"

"You'll have to fight Lee for that one, I should think," Laura said dryly, stretching. "And do it behind Bill's back."

"Do what behind my back?" Bill asked, coming through the door, one of Hera's hands tucked in his.

"I'm going to teach your daughter how to fly," Starbuck informed him with an impish grin. Laura was tempted to flash a similar one.

His expression didn't change; he continued to look stoic and forbidding. "No," he stated, and swung Hera up so that she could sit next to Kara on the bed. "Nor will you teach her to shoot, smoke, or gamble."

"I'd like to learn how to shoot," Laura informed him, raising a brow. "And I appreciate a game of cards, every once in a while."

"You will not teach her to smoke or gamble to excess," he amended smoothly, as Hera examined Clotho closer, cooing quietly in fascination. He moved to stand on the other side of the bed, next to Laura's shoulder.

"That's how you do it," Starbuck murmured to Clotho. "Just watch your mommy and Aunt Kara; we'll show you how it's done."

Bill let a tiny smirk show on his face, and reached out to gently trace the curve of Laura's jaw. "She's trying to undermine my authority again," he rumbled. She pressed her lips together tightly to keep from laughing.

Starbuck carefully gave Clotho back to Laura, and coerced Hera off the bed. Hera seemed disinclined to leave her favorite person and the extremely interesting baby, but she left with only a reasonably moderate amount of fussing.

Laura handed Clotho to Bill as Starbuck left, and moved further under her blankets. "So, was it everything you expected, and more?" she asked jokingly, reaching to turn off one of the closer lights as he sat beside her.

"The birth?" he asked, looking up at her. "It was miserable. I can't believe I ever ended up with three children."

A scarcely noticeable beat. "Two."

"Three," Laura replied gently, reaching out from under the blanket to rest a hand on his knee. "Between you and Lee, Clotho will always know that she has two brothers."

He smiled at her sadly his arms almost engulfing the tiny frame of their daughter. "Some memories are best left untold."

"Those are the ones we usually end up repeating," she replied, her eyelids beginning to drift shut. "Which is why I will never let anyone forget the last election."

He pulled a hand free and passed his fingers over her eyes, drawing the lids closed. "You're an amazing woman," he said quietly, resting his fingertips on her cheek. "I love you. Go to sleep."

It was an order that she had absolutely no problems with obeying.

* * *

_This time, she didn't have Clotho with her. Laura had noticed discrepancies like this before- sometimes she had bare feet, sometimes she wore shoes; sometimes she wore her presidential best and sometimes she looked fresh from mucking about on New Caprica. She hoped that bringing her daughter had been a strictly one time only event, but she rather doubted that._

_And, for the first time since her first dream of this ship, Laura had not shown up in Six's office- rather, she looked to be in their version of CIC, with at least a dozen Cylons staring at her. Some simply looked curious, while some bore expressions that would have been better suited to death row inmates. And while there were several Six models in the mix, she was getting the feeling that her particular Six was not among them. As Laura took in the situation, the Cylons slowly spread out, creating a barrier between her and the nearest instrument panels. _

"_I'm not here to sightsee," Laura informed them, her voice bearing a slight edge of aggravation. _

_A Sharon- no, an Eight, she remembered- took a step out of the line. "Why do you keep coming, Laura Roslin?"_

"_If I knew the answer to that question, then I would no longer be coming here," Laura replied reasonably. _

"_And your friend Kara Thrace comes as well," Eight continued, crossing her arms over her chest. "You are no longer pregnant, so that is not a factor in who may visit. And Captain Thrace have never been exposed to chamalla."_

"_I couldn't say that for a fact," Laura said in turn. "She may have been exposed, at some point."_

"_But then we would have many more night-wanderers from your fleet." Eight gave her a speculative glance, and Laura wondered, for the millionth time, how exactly the humanoid Cylons frakking worked. "You have some of our blood, which might explain some of this unnaturalness, but other than being a guardian to one of our children, Captain Thrace has no Cylon ties."_

"_Your people think that you are touched by your gods," said a Six, stepping forward. "Perhaps some divinity has passed on to Thrace."_

"_And to your daughter," came a voice from behind Laura. She didn't even have to turn to know who it was- the Six she so often met with in dreams. "How long until your daughter walks our halls, Laura?" Six asked, stopping at her side. She wrapped her hand around Laura's bicep in a strong grip. "Children are so fragile."_

_It took every drop of Laura's self-control to keep from lashing out or showing her emotions upon her face. "If this is the will of the gods, then they will keep her safe… just as they kept her safe from your bullet."_

_Six nodded slowly, releasing Laura's arm. "We have so many things to discuss," she said as Laura turned to walk away._

"_I suppose we do," Laura replied without looking back, and spent the rest of her night winding through labyrinthine halls._

* * *

Clotho was a fairly undemanding baby. Laura found herself both glad and worried at this: glad because she really did not have the energy to parent a more troublesome child, and worried because she knew from her own mother's stories that she herself had been a living terror as an infant. Given the DNA Clotho had been created from, such a happy child was unexpected… and that was _discounting_ the possibility that she might have some Cylon DNA within her. Cottle insisted that she was, in every respect, a normal child- Laura had even let him draw further blood work, which confirmed that fact- and had informed her that she should be praising the gods that she gave birth to a baby who at least made a pretense of sleeping regularly, and for relatively long periods of time.

"Are you sure you're related to Lee?" Starbuck asked Clotho one day, in all seeming seriousness, as the baby simply gurgled in response. Starbuck was, at this point, _past_ due, and found that fact to be exceedingly frustrating. She cradled Clotho in her arms, letting a bit of the weight rest on her bulging abdomen. "Because you are entirely too content." She carefully placed Clotho on a blanket that had been spread over the floor.

"It is rather startling," Laura admitted, looking up from the sheaf of papers she was examining, all awaiting her signature and approval. She was, quite frankly, exhausted. Now that she had once again taken up the presidency- both out of necessity and the fact that the civilians simply refused to accept anyone else, at this point- it was almost impossible to handle the never-ending rounds of childcare and the government. Thankfully, Bill seemed intent on doing as much as he possibly could to make one or another easier on her, although that had caused some problems early on when it came to the presidential end of her duties. After several arguments they had finally resolved upon a working system that balanced both government and family, although most days she felt as if one wrong move would throw everything out of whack.

Still, Laura found herself happy; more than happy, even, on the rare nights that she got a sufficient amount of sleep. Bill was a great help with that; even when he was exhausted he never failed to fetch Clotho when she woke to be fed in the middle of the night, leaving Laura with little more to do than muster enough strength to hold their daughter while she ate.

She thought that Bill was happy, as well: just from watching him with Clotho she could already tell that the infant had him wrapped around her little finger. This gave Hera no little competition for his affection, but he was a master at dividing his attention between them when she was in the room. Laura wondered at times what Bill really thought about Hera- it was obvious that he felt a real amount of affection toward her, like he would toward a niece or (given that she had all but taken Kara's name) a granddaughter- but occasionally Laura found herself watching the child with care, knowing the possibilities that lay beneath her skin. She hoped- gods, she hoped- that they would not rue the day that Starbuck took Hera under her wing. She also hoped that the news of Hera's parentage never leaked beyond their tiny circle. If Tigh, in particular, let the tidbit slip to Ellen… well, if that happened, they would have to lock Hera in the brig for her own frakking safety.

Until something happened, she was simply Hera, adopted daughter of Kara Thrace, whom Helo watched with sad eyes from a distance. He was the only person outside of her quorum that knew Hera's identity, although to Laura's surprise he had approached her before she had even decided on telling him.

"I know who and what she is," he had said to her, a bare week after Clotho's birth. "Keep her safe, please."

Whether or not he told Sharon- who he visited on a regular basis- Laura wasn't sure. In any case, the Cylon continued to spend her days much as she always had, although Laura made sure to send her some books every now and again. Laura had missed books, during her own time in the brig.

"Six says that they will be friends," Starbuck offered suddenly, watching Hera as she sat next to Clotho on a blanket. "And you know, I hope that she's right, for once."

Laura watched the two children for a moment, thoughtful. "They may well be," she finally said. "Along with your baby."

"Another trio?" Starbuck asked dryly, looking over at Laura. "Do we need another triumvirate to go with elder/mother/daughter?"

Laura shrugged, and dropped the paper she was holding onto her desk. "Blessings and curses come in threes, alike. There is little use in postulating which it is, beforehand."

"True enough." Starbuck stretched, trying to loosen the kinks in her back. "I'm beginning to think this kid doesn't want to be born," she muttered. "Any longer and I'll be begging Doc to induce."

There was a knock on the door, which was cracked open. Lee opened the door further and looked in. "Madame President, Captain Thrace," he said formally, and dropped the act when Laura leveled a glare in his direction. With a quick measuring glance at Starbuck, he came in and went straight for the children. Hera was fond of Lee, and although it was nowhere near the level of fondness that she held for Bill, she still offered him a hug when he approached, which he accepted. After greeting Clotho with a gentle tickle and caress, he returned much of his attention to Laura.

"The civilians are getting antsy," he informed her with a straight face, though the expression quickly melted into a small grin. "They want to know when they can expect a wedding. As your military advisor, I would recommend considering their demand."

"Is this going to turn into a hostage situation?" she asked, only half joking, "because we don't deal with terrorists, as you well know." She gave the stack of papers on the desk a grim look. "And there will be a wedding when they stop generating so much paperwork."

"An official wedding, anyway," Starbuck said slyly. "As we all know, seeing as we were all at the extremely private and surprisingly secret civil ceremony."

Laura hid a small smirk. She and Bill had, indeed, been married privately nearly two weeks after Clotho's birth. The secrecy had been necessary; neither of them wanted a wedding that would turn into a fleet-wide chaotic event, with nearly every civilian and crewmember wanting to be present in a space that wouldn't hold even a tenth of them. It would be best, they had both reasoned, to just let the news leak out in a few months, when everyone was reasonably settled. Of course, they hadn't counted on their wedding being _this_ big a deal.

"Shouldn't have become such big frakking legends," Kara continued. "Just brought it upon yourselves." She and Apollo exchanged cautious grins, still uncomfortable with each other.

"I'm going to commission an epic song, I think," Laura said aloud, as if to herself. "All about the heroic doings of Kara Thrace. Before I'm done with you, Starbuck will be ten feet tall, carrying a mighty axe."

Kara smirked. "I'm already ten feet tall to the public, Madame President. Ooof." She rubbed her belly, grimacing slightly. "Stop kicking, start contracting," she ordered her womb. "Anyway, your threats don't scare me."

"Give me her weakness, Lee," Laura ordered, pulling off her glasses. "I need some leverage."

He glanced somewhat uncertainly at Starbuck. "I'd tell you to make her your press secretary, but that could have disastrous results."

"I can only imagine," Laura muttered, as Kara chucked a pillow at Apollo's head. "'Okay, boys and girls. Until I say otherwise, you may only refer to me as God.'"

"'That's a stupid question,'" Lee mimicked, "'Give me twenty pushups, you frakking idiot.' Just keep her as a personal advisor; she'll be begging to get back into a Viper before you know it."

Starbuck handed Hera a bag of blocks, shaking her head. "The Old Man won't let you treat me that way."

As Lee and Kara continued to bicker back and forth, Laura returned to her paperwork with a small smile. If they kept this up, they would slip back into their normal pattern of living before they even realized it, and then their foundering relationship would be one less thing for her to worry about. Laura knew that beneath their rough relationship lay a foundation of true affection; whether that turned into something romantic or settled into something more platonic was still to be seen. This was, of course, assuming that the relationship between Lee and Dualla completely fell apart. Frankly, Laura couldn't bring herself to feel much affection for the girl who had so quickly forgotten Billy, and she didn't particularly want her as a daughter-in-law. Starbuck, on the other hand…

Either way, both she and Bill would breathe a little easier when the two other grown members of their family resolved their differences.

Tuning out the majority of their conversation, Laura focused on her latest bit of diplomacy; a matter that was infinitely more personal than the various petty disputes that took up her time. She felt greatly indebted to Tyrol for saving her life and Clotho's, and as such personally kept tabs on Cally and his two sons, all of whom lived continued to live on Galactica. Laura kept her own involvement in the matter as much under wraps as possible, not wanting his family to become firmly fixed in the public eye as recipients as her favor. Not only would that be uncomfortable for them, but also she had no desire to come under fire for undue favoritism. There would be enough of those accusations later, she well knew. The current upswing of public favor was merely the honeymoon period; at any moment something or someone (probably Zarek) would send everything topsy-turvy.

Gods, she really hated politics.

* * *

"Sometimes I think the gods are laughing at me," she grumbled that night, tucked firmly against his side in their rack. "There is no other explanation for the way paperwork breeds with complete abandon."

He chuckled softly into her hair. "It does seem to have gotten worse since New Caprica."

"Everyone is so eager to make up for past sins that they have tripled the amount of pointless bureaucracy," she muttered, still shivering slightly despite his warmth and the extra blankets. She was relatively sure that she would never quite readjust to Galactica's climate. "Sometimes I just want to chuck it out into the hallway."

"That would be quite a picture; the president of the colonies pitching a fit in public."

"Clotho does it often enough." She pressed a bit closer. "How much fuel would we waste if we upped the temperature by about ten degrees?"

"A scandalous amount. It would be like a sauna." He sat up for a moment, grabbing an extra blanket. "Better?" he asked, after draping it over them. He could just see the tips of her hair, burrowed as she was.

"Somewhat." She placed a kiss against his shoulder. "Thank you."

She slept.


	20. Long Nights

_Evening_

_you gather back_

_all that dazzling dawn has put asunder:_

_you gather a lamb_

_gather a kid_

_gather a child to its mother. _

_ -Sappho_

Helo would have been a good father. After watching him interact with Hera, Laura was firmly of this opinion, which made the entire situation even harder to deal with. The saving grace of the matter was that Helo fully recognized the dangers of acknowledging publicly her true parentage, and had willingly given up his rights to his daughter. If he hadn't, Laura would have been forced to put the full weight of her office behind separating him from Hera. But, as he had done so willingly, she didn't much see the point of denying him access to her.

It was dangerous, she knew. Someday, the entire story was bound to come out, but hopefully that day would be far into the future. If they could just have the time to integrate Hera fully into the fleet, for her to make friends and win people to her side, then she would stand a chance of rising above whatever scandal her parentage might cause. Helo would be a help in that, being as well liked as he was. Fostering a good relationship between father and daughter at this point was paramount, even if they had to hide it under the pretense of Helo partnering with Starbuck to take care of some "official" duties. Eventually, this partnership would probably become military in nature- Laura was sure Bill could find something that worked- but until Starbuck was flight ready, Laura just delegated a small amount of the more useless paperwork to them, which freed her up just enough to spend more time with Clotho.

This new small slice of time was precious. Laura still found herself entranced with her daughter, and would have spent far more time simply watching and cuddling her if possible. The way Clotho smiled and cooed happily whenever she saw her was almost like a knife to Laura's heart; she found that it made her almost _too_ happy. Most of the hair she had been born with had fallen out, and although it had not yet grown back Bill swore that Clotho would end up with red hair. Laura rather caustically thought that it would be appropriate if that happened, seeing as Laura herself was losing enough hair every day to make her panic just a bit. Cottle, of course, had accused her of making an undue fuss over a perfectly normal event.

"What, you thought you were going to get to keep all of it?" he had said, cigarette in hand (his temporary withdrawal from nicotine on New Caprica had not continued once aboard Galactica, much to his patients' misfortune). "This is how pregnancy works, Laura. You get a great head of hair during the nine months, but it never lasts. Get over it."

Laura was finding it hard to simply "get over it." Not only was she dealing with the hair loss, but she was also feeling rather unsatisfied with the way the rest of her body looked, as well. She was beginning to really miss the elasticity of youth, and was wary of being undressed in front of Bill. She doubted he'd say anything unkind, but… well. Eventually Cottle would unsubtly give her the go-ahead to resume having sex, and she wasn't particularly looking forward to the day.

That, however, was still in her future; at the moment she was perfectly content to memorize Clotho's scent and the feel of her head against her breast while listening to the activity on the other side of the divide, where Helo, Hera, and Starbuck were building towers of blocks and noisily knocking them over. The latter was something Hera particularly enjoyed; every time the blocks tumbled to the floor she would giggle happily. She had taken to Helo immediately, something Laura still thanked the gods for. It would have been a disaster if Hera had shown herself to be displeased with him.

Amidst the noise of another tower falling, Laura heard an audible grunt that sounded like Starbuck, as well as a hum of startled uncertainty from Helo.

"Uh, Laura?" Kara called. "I think my water just broke."

"Wet," Hera confirmed as Laura tossed a shawl over the still nursing Clotho. Quickly, she moved around the divide to find Helo helping Starbuck off the floor, where a puddle was rapidly soaking into the carpet.

"Hera, come here," Laura ordered firmly as the little girl began to move toward the damp patch. "Helo, escort Kara to the infirmary while I find someone to watch Hera." She forcefully tugged Hera back from the carpet. "On second thought, I will escort Kara to the infirmary. You stay here and keep her out of trouble."

There was a momentary flash of complete panic in Helo's eyes- they had never left him alone with Hera for more than a few minutes at a time, and this particular instance would doubtless last much longer than five to ten minutes.

Kara shook her head. "No, take her to my quarters," she insisted. "All her things are there, and she'll need a nap in an hour, anyway." She glanced over at the carpet, and her lips twitched into a small smile. "And call the cleaners."

Helo rapidly bundled the blocks into a small bag, and hoisted Hera up into his arms. "Should I…" he paused, hovering with his back to them as Laura handed Clotho to Kara so that she could readjust her clothes. "Should I call Admiral Adama?"

"No," Laura and Kara chorused. Starbuck handed Clotho back to her mother, and began moving toward the door.

Starbuck stopped short as a contraction began to build, her brows knitting together. "So, Laura," she asked as it ended, "how bad, exactly, is this gonna get?" She followed Helo and Hera through the door.

"You don't want me to answer that," Laura replied, and shut the door firmly behind them as Starbuck sighed.

* * *

Laura had dithered about whether or not to remain with Starbuck during the birth- on the one hand, she had an extremely large amount of backlogged work, and Clotho needed to be cared for. She didn't particularly want to be involved in another birth again, even if she would only be an observer, this time around.

In the end, when it became obvious that Starbuck really had nobody else to yell at during the birth, Laura bowed to duty. While Kara went through the unnervingly familiar and endless walk and rest cycle, Laura tracked down her husband in order to foist Clotho upon him. She found him in CIC, and when he saw the determined look in her eyes he quirked a brow.

"Starbuck is in labor," she informed him, tucking Clotho into his arms and handing off a bag of essentials to Tigh, who stood nearby. "So unless you want to act as her moral support- something she probably wouldn't appreciate- then it's all up to me."

Bill glanced around at the various officers and fleet members, all of whom had amused looks on their faces. "Don't we have any babysitters on this ship?" he asked, nonetheless smiling down at Clotho as she began to coo in a way that said, _hey, I know you_.

"Bill, answer me honestly: how many of them would you trust with your daughter?" she asked in turn.

"Ah," he replied. "I see your point." There was a sudden look of mischief in his eyes, and he carefully released a hand to pick up the handset to the nearest phone. "Get me Pegasus actual," he ordered, and a small laugh escaped her before she could muffle it.

"Well, that is one option," she acknowledged with a nod, turning slightly as Starbuck marched up to her in irritation.

"How frakking long is this gonna take?" Kara asked, panting slightly. "Frakking… ridiculous…" Starbuck looked sharply over at an officer whose amusement had gotten the better of him. "Shut your frakking mouth."

"Come on," Laura said, laying a soothing hand on Starbuck's arm. "You're due for another check in the infirmary." She began gently pushing the younger woman to the exit, looking back briefly to give Bill a warning look. "Tell Lee to bring her to me when she needs to be fed."

Starbuck huffed a tired laugh. "He's making Lee babysit?"

"Apparently he doesn't trust anyone else," Laura replied wryly. "Did you check on Helo?"

"Hera's got him buried under her toys." Starbuck stopped to ride another contraction. "As long as she doesn't attempt a holy hecatomb, he oughta be okay."

"Do you think she might?" Laura asked.

"Gods only know. She's got a lot of ideas for a kid who can't string more than a few half-baked sentences together."

Nearer to the infirmary, Starbuck glanced over at Laura and lowered her voice. "Have you seen Six lately?"

"Nearly every night." Laura was sure that the recurring dream was contributing, along with Clotho, to her lack of sleep. "Did she give you the 'children are so fragile' speech?"

"Yes, and then she asked me if I had any seers in my family line." Kara paused at the door of the infirmary, leaning against the wall.

Laura raised a brow. "Do you?"

Starbuck straightened wearily and continued in. "No. We're all too frakked up for that." With Laura's help, she got onto one of the beds and stretched out with a groan. "And my _back_ is all frakked up."

"Mine still is," Laura muttered, and patted one of Kara's knees. "But then, you are young. Know that I consider this an unfair advantage."

Starbuck laughed a bit shakily. "Just don't leave me, okay?"

"I might fall asleep- actually, I will, at some point, I can guarantee that- and I'll have to feed Clotho at some point, and there may very well be some major emergency, but," Laura said, perching on a nearby chair, "I promise to do all those things- except the latter- in the nearby vicinity of you."

"I like how I ask for a promise and you give me a pledge of 'as long as it fits within these parameters.' Very presidential." Starbuck sucked in a quick breath as another contraction began. "What're you going to do with yourself when you've finished your last term?" she asked as the pain ebbed.

"Sleep," Laura said flatly. "You're going to want that luxury too, shortly enough."

"Cheering. Maybe you should go into stand-up comedy."

"And wouldn't that be a picture?' Laura replied rhetorically. "You could be my warm up act."

"Hades, no," Kara said with a sly grin. "I'll be sleeping."

"Frak you, Thrace."

"I can't believe the president of the colonies just swore at me. Ishay, did you hear that?"

"I heard nothing," Ishay said, pulling on a pair of gloves. "Only the rain. Now let me check to see how far along you are."

Laura slumped back into her seat. Gods above, this was going to last forever.

* * *

_"Seers?" Laura asked hours later as soon as she saw Six, who was sitting at her usual desk, a picture in hand. Laura took a seat on the other side of the desk, eyeing a nearby piece of paper. "Perhaps you could explain?"_

"_For the moment, that is a matter between Captain Thrace and myself," Six replied, snatching the paper away as soon as she realized that it had caught Laura's attention, and dropped the picture into a drawer. "How is her labor going, by the way? I see that you are asleep on the job."_

"_If she wanted me, all she would need to do is throw something." Laura smirked. "I'm within her range, easily."_

"_She is a bit… impulsive," Six mused, her gaze searching her desk as if wondering what else could possibly be within Laura's grasp. "How is Hera?"_

"_Blooming," Laura replied acidly. "How's your secret plan?"_

"_Lovely. Too bad that-"_

* * *

Laura jerked awake. "What?"

"Pushing," Starbuck panted. "I have been for… twenty frakking minutes. How in Hades… did you sleep… through that?"

"Good question," Cottle added. "I was rather impressed, myself. Grab her other leg, please, she can't continue to hold the damn thing by herself."

"Why didn't you wake me?" Laura asked, rushing to the other side of the bed.

"I _tried_," Starbuck nearly wailed. "But you were completely _out_."

"And we moved everything within her arms reach," Cottle added. "Last thing we need is for someone to nail the president with a pair of forceps. Kara, push."

Really, just watching Starbuck go through the ordeal was enough to make Laura's nerves ache in empathy. A quick glance showed that the baby was crowning, but Laura immediately looked back at Kara with what she hoped was a reassuring smile. Kara did not look reassured.

Thankfully, labor seemed to go by much quicker when she was not the pregnant woman in question. Within the next fifteen minutes, Starbuck had been delivered of a healthy, if somewhat squashed looking, baby girl, and a large amount of placenta.

"Frak me," Kara murmured upon first holding the baby. "Three frakking girls; we're doomed."

Cottle and Ishay both looked perplexed, but refrained from commenting. Laura decided it would be best to steer Kara's mind away from Six. "Looks like we won't be hoping for joint grandchildren," she said lightly.

Starbuck stroked the outline of the newborn's face with the tip of one trembling finger. "Yeah, but there will probably be some sleepovers, or whatever those things are called. Never had one." She took a deep breath, barely touching the tip of the baby's nose with her finger. "Ismene, we have a lot of learning to do together," she murmured. "Be patient, if you please."

Satisfied that Starbuck was, at least for the moment, completely wrapped up in the baby, Laura slipped outside the infirmary. As she suspected, Bill was waiting out in the hallway, looking as if he had been there for a while.

"A girl," she whispered, sliding into his arms. "Both mother and daughter are fine, and her name is Ismene."

"Good," he murmured. "How are you holding up?"

She let out a tired laugh. "Apparently I slept through the first twenty minutes she was pushing, so I've had at least that much more sleep than Kara. How's Clotho?"

"Sleeping. Last time I was in our quarters, Lee was sprawled out on the couch, dead to the galaxy and wearing a stained shirt. She's given him an education."

"That's my girl," she muttered against his shoulder, feeling as if she might collapse as the adrenaline rapidly left her system. "I can't leave yet."

"Yes, you can," he said firmly. "I'll go in and sit with Starbuck."

"I don't think I can make it to our quarters," she replied, swaying.

"Then you will find an empty bed in the infirmary while I sit with Starbuck." He ushered her back into the infirmary, where an unoccupied bed was quickly found. He gently pushed her back onto the mattress and bent to pull off her shoes. She was asleep before he had even pulled the blanket up to her chin.

* * *

_For the first time, Laura found herself in the same dream as Starbuck. Kara was huddled defensively over the bundle clenched to her chest, glaring fiercely at Six as she tried to twist away. Six merely looked amused, although her smile died when she saw that Laura had appeared._

_"Both of you?" she said aloud. "Is that really necessary?"_

_"Probably not," Laura answered, "but I find it rather comforting."_

_"I hadn't expected you to have a girl, Captain Thrace," Six continued after making a moue of distaste. "I suppose you find it surprising, as well."_

_"I hadn't really thought about it much," Kara answered reluctantly. "Why is my daughter here, anyway? What are you, her welcoming committee?"_

_Six walked back to her desk, shrugging. "That is yet to be seen. What I do know is that your daughter is the inevitable."_

_"Of what?" Starbuck asked._

_"Merely, the inevitable." Six rounded the desk and turned back to look at them seriously. "How strange a committee we form," she murmured, looking at both of them in turn, before fixing her gaze on Ismene. "What kind of webs will we weave?"_

_Or, Laura thought, like Penelope, what will we unravel?_

* * *

Laura opened her eyes, and got out of the narrow bed. The lights had been dimmed, and as she padded quietly to the corner relegated to Starbuck, she passed a tired Ishay, who nodded wearily.

Starbuck looked up as Laura rounded the screen, Kara's hand tangled in the blankets as she watched the nearby crib. Bill wasn't near, leading Laura to believe that he had gone to relieve Lee's babysitting duty.

"Bunnies," Kara whispered grouchily.

"Hmm?" Laura asked, peeking in on Ismene before taking a seat.

"When I'm not dreaming about Six, it's always damn bunnies." Kara shifted restlessly, untangling her hands from the blankets, worry playing across her face. "How is my daughter the inevitable?" she asked, strain evident in her voice.

"I don't know," Laura admitted.

"How much of what she says is true?"

"I don't know." Laura took in a deep breath. "But remember… her one aim is to keep us off guard."

Kara turned back to look at the crib. "Is it?"

Laura hesitated, struggling with her doubt and conviction. "Gods, I hope so."

Lords of Kobol, she thought, hear our prayers.

* * *

Inside their quarters, Laura found Lee still asleep on the couch, looking exactly as Bill had described. She slipped past him around the divide, where she found Bill whispering something to a wide-awake Clotho. He looked up as she entered, and gave her a small smile.

"I was just telling Clotho about the time I threw you in the brig," he murmured. "She thinks I was completely justified, by the way."

As if to give emphasis to his tale, Clotho gurgled happily and waved a hand toward her father's face.

"Daddy's girl," Laura sighed. Clotho clamped onto her index finger with the surprising strength of infants. "Lee's still out, I noticed."

"In his defense, he was up for a while after I talked to you. There's been a mild crisis over on Pegasus; he was busy dealing with that." He handed Clotho over to Laura for a feeding. "Starbuck seemed a bit off-kilter," he mentioned, watching as their daughter eagerly latched onto the offered breast.

"Labor does that, sometimes," Laura offered blandly. "She may develop a case of post-partum depression. Besides, she still misses Anders."

"Hmm." He pulled her toward him to rest against his chest. "I think it's something beyond that, though."

"How so?" she asked, feeling a prickle of warning scatter down her spine.

"I don't think she's sleeping well." She felt him shrug slightly behind her, and he reached forward to pull a strand of hair off of her face. "You haven't been sleeping well, either," he continued, and she heard the note of suspicion buried in his voice.

"New Caprica," she murmured in reply, giving him half the truth. She did have dreams about New Caprica, although not as often as she dreamt of Six and the Cylons. The New Caprica dreams were almost as bad; she dreamed of mud up to her knees and rain coming in through broken windows, the glass scattered in and around a small crib. Of Cylon Centurions marching in the drizzle and fog, and spiders spinning their webs between drooping trees.

He seemed to accept that explanation; after all, he knew how cold she often felt during both day and night. She felt a stab of guilt. What good was it to store up these virulent secrets like her own personal Pandora's box?

"Bill," she began, sounding a tad shaky even to her own ears, "I have something to tell you."

He placed a gentle kiss at her hairline. "Hmm?"

"Kara and I have been having the same dreams."

His grip tightened on her waist, slightly. "Hmmm?"

"And not about Caprica," she admitted. "About Six… and a Cylon ship."

There was a barely audible hitch in his breathing, but instead of speaking he first pushed up her left sleeve. There was still a slight shadow of a bruise on her bicep; Six had a good grip. "She can touch you?"

He was speaking very quietly, very gently, in a way that told her someone was about to get killed.

"Yes," she said, pressing a hand against their daughter's upturned ear in a vain effort to block the coming argument. "But she hasn't been able to hurt us- _me_- beyond some bruising, and I think she might be a bit scared of Kara's temper, anyway." She had the feeling that she had been reduced to babbling, and knew that her excuses sounded ridiculous. She shifted Clotho to the other breast, wondering what her daughter was taking in with the milk. _Stay far away from Cylon halls_, she thought, stroking the curve of Clotho's cheek, somewhat unnerved by Bill's silence.

He moved away and stood to pace the floor. "How?" he asked after a few moments of thought. "The chamalla?"

"Kara's never been exposed to chamalla," she reminded him softly. "I've been trying to learn things from Six, but even she seems a bit in the dark."

"How long?" He rubbed his forehead with a weary hand. "At least since boarding Galactica, I'm guessing. How long before that? A week? A month?"

"A few days before boarding." She adjusted Clotho slightly. "Your first night back on New Caprica. Kara's first dream was the first afternoon back on Galactica."

"If it were just you, I would almost have to call it a normal occurrence," he muttered, leaning against the divide with his head in his hands. "Starbuck, though, is not quite as…"

She waited for him to finish his sentence, and finally realized an ending was not forthcoming. "Mystical?" she offered dryly. "Or, Gods forbid, were you going to say _gullible_?"

"Hardly." He huffed a soundless laugh. "It's just not something I'd expect from Starbuck."

"Point taken," she acknowledged. "This is not a thoughtless risk that I am taking, Bill."

"I'm _aware_." The last time she had seen him this grumpy, he had been throwing her in the brig. "Unfortunately," he continued, "I can hardly stop you from _dreaming_, or Starbuck for that matter." His pause to emphasize his unhappiness was hardly necessary. "This does not mean that I understand or find the situation acceptable in any way."

_As if I understand or find it acceptable…_ she thought wryly, as she handed him Clotho to be burped and put back to bed. "Noted," was all she said aloud.

When Clotho had been tucked securely into her crib, Laura found herself in a kind of silent show down, with her still seated on the rack and him standing a few feet away, looking displeased.

"If she ever touches you again, I want to know immediately," he stated firmly, crossing his arms.

_So you can torture yourself with the knowledge?_ she thought, but still touched at his concern. "I will tell you," she promised.

"The same goes for Starbuck," he insisted.

"You need to wrangle that particular promise out of her yourself," Laura replied, imagining with slight amusement how that conversation would go.

He nodded, and then sighed, quietly, and sat next to her. "Only a few months till Colonial Day," he said, half in reconciliation and half in worry. "We have a lot to celebrate," he finished, not particularly sounding like he was up for the celebration.

Clotho cooed quietly from her crib, beginning to drift into sleep. They both glanced over and smiled slightly.

"Yes," Laura finally said in reply to his statement, feeling his arm wind back around her waist, "we really do." And she kissed him.


	21. Epilogue: Normal Chaos

_Pure Graces with arms like roses_

_come here, daughters of Zeus_

_ -Sappho_

There was chaos in the section of the ship relegated to fleet quarters, and it did not surprise Laura in the slightest that her daughter was at least in part behind it. Specifically, the chaos involved several buckets of soapy water, five pilots fresh from weight training, and three sheepish looking little girls. One of them, a blonde who stood a head over her companions, bore a worried expression that immediately increased into utter panic the moment she saw the former president of the colonies surveying the scene with a look of grim displeasure. Her shoulders hunched inward, slightly, as if trying to decrease her height, while the other two girls- one of whom was roughly two years older than her cohorts- unthinkingly sidestepped to cover her.

"Mama," one of those two said in acknowledgment, a puff of soap bubbles dotting the end of her nose. Her blue eyes were beseeching as she pulled the tip of an auburn braid into her mouth, a bad habit Laura had yet to break her from. "It was an accident."

The five pilots involved all looked amused; one of them patted the girl on the head fondly. "We needed baths, anyway."

Laura considered the situation silently; wondering what in Hades the new president would have to say about this little escapade. Tory, who had won the public with Laura's support, had made comments in the past about Clotho's… rambunctiousness. It was not a matter technically within the presidential jurisdiction, but with both Laura and Bill being as close to the throne as they were, there was certain decorum expected of both them and their family.

Decorum that Clotho rather lacked. But then, she was barely six. She made up for her lack of decorum in other aspects of her personality; namely, in what was almost delusional bravery.

_Six_, Laura reminded herself as Clotho opened her mouth to begin her defense. _Six_.

"You told Daddy last night that the cleaner left," Clotho said clearly, having abandoned sucking on her braid in favor of clarity. "And he said that it was a big mess. So we came to clean it."

The pilots, as well as the gathering crowd, unsuccessfully tried to muffle their chuckles. Laura hid a small smile. The "cleaner" that Clotho referred to had actually been a lieutenant suspected of passing intelligence to a covert group of rebels on another ship; his death- and Tory had sworn up and down that it had been accidental- had sent more than a few shockwaves amongst other members of the fleet. In fact, this was the first time Laura had seen any of the pilots or crew smile in days.

Still, she couldn't exactly let an incident like this go. She crooked a finger at the short threesome in a silent command, and with resigned expressions (excepting Ismene, who looked miserable) they followed her like inmates to an executioner. It wasn't Laura's way to punish wrongdoing by public humiliation. Not only was that often more cruel than the crime itself, it often resulted in a major downswing in public approval (and that particular incident had been, shall we say, quite blown out of proportion by gossipmongers).

A small hand crept into her own; she looked down to see Bill's eyes staring at her from a face much like her own. Really, it was uncanny how Clotho managed to give her a Bill expression at odd moments like this. "Mama," Clotho whispered, the braid tip back in her mouth, "we were just trying to help."

They had reached the door to their quarters. "I know," Laura sighed, shepherding the three in ahead of her, "but what is the most important rule of the fleet?"

"Don't do anything you wouldn't do in front of the president," Hera piped up. "But is cleaning illegal?"

Ismene had curled up on one end of the couch, and Laura smoothed back a loose lock from the girl's forehead. The small gesture served to make most of the misery disappear from Ismene's face. Death, apparently, was not imminent.

"Cleaning isn't illegal," Laura confirmed, sitting next to Ismene as the other two squirmed on her other side. "It is, in fact, encouraged. What is the second most important rule of the fleet?"

"Don't be wasteful," Clotho mumbled around her hair. "Sorry, mama."

"Sorry, Aunt Laura," Ismene whispered, and was shortly echoed by Hera.

"Thank you." She examined them for a moment, gently pulling the braid from Clotho's mouth with a look of warning. "Let's find some dry clothing, then. Clotho, go and change quickly so that we can go down to Hera and Ismene's quarters."

As her daughter scurried off, grateful to have gotten off as lightly as she did, Laura considered shipping the threesome off to stay with Lee for a week. It would serve him right for always saying that he didn't see his sister enough. And wouldn't the girls just adore the change of scenery?

"Aunt Laura," Ismene said suddenly, still sounding a bit timid (Laura still found it rather unnerving that Kara Thrace's natural daughter was more often than not quiet and reticent. It almost defied universal order). "Mama told me to tell you my dream." She scooted a bit closer, twisting her fingers in her hair. "A woman told me she was six. But she was awful big to be six."

Laura's heart rate jumped, and she tried to take in a few deep breaths. "What did she look like?" she asked, turning toward Ismene.

"Blonde," Ismene answered immediately, meeting Laura's eyes. She was more comfortable with stable, steady facts than fluid and uncertain confrontations. "Her hair was curly, and she was naked with clothes on."

Laura stifled a nervous laugh. Trust a child to come up with that kind of observation. "What did she say to you?"

"That she was six." Ismene pulled her fingers out of her hair, leaving a tangle behind. "She asked me if my name was Clotho, and I said no, that I was Mene, and my mommy was a pilot. And then she said I was the nevable."

"Nevable?" Laura repeated, her mind running through a list of possible interpretations.

"And when I woke up and told mama, she got all mad and said words I'm not supposed to say," Ismene dutifully reported. On Laura's other side, Hera giggled.

"It was funny," Hera added.

Laura was still stuck on 'nevable', but the mention of Starbuck sparked a particular memory.

"_What I do know is that your daughter is the inevitable." _

Six, again. Laura was really, really tired of Six. Seven years of dreams had yielded only a handful of useful information; the rest was monotonous and frustrating. Kara felt much the same, although her dreams, at least, had garnered some very interesting information about engine conformation and alternate fuel resources that had saved the fleet more than once.

"If you see her again," Laura began, praying fervently that it would not be the case, "then tell her that she needs to talk to me or your mother, not you." _As if she'll listen_. Even after years of nearly nightly visits, Six was still… Six. Teasing, frustrating, and occasionally downright childish, she, at least, had not changed.

Then again, Six didn't have any children. That might account for some of her stasis.

Ismene nodded seriously, still young enough to believe that whatever her mother or aunt said was directly from the gods, and would be obeyed by everyone as such. Clotho ran back to the couch, now in dry (if somewhat mismatched) clothing, her braids still damp and bedraggled.

Once they were in Kara's quarters and Ismene and Hera had been dispatched to change, Laura pulled Clotho into her lap and unwound her two long braids, a brush and elastics at her side. "Have you been having strange dreams lately?" she asked in a murmur, running her fingers fondly through the rippling auburn locks before picking up the brush.

Clotho tried to twist to meet her mother's eyes, but settled back when Laura pushed gently on her shoulders. "I dreamed I had a pink pony," she offered. "It had long whiskers."

Laura worked her way through a tangle, wondering if her daughter would ever actually _see_ a pony. They had pictures left, to be sure, but what kind of childhood was one without pony rides? "What else?"

"Water. It tasted salty." Clotho let her legs swing slightly, barely thumping Laura's shins with her heels. "And weird ground. Scratchy."

"Sand," Laura whispered, remembering trips to the ocean. "Did you see the dolphins?" One braid grew half twined from between her fingers.

"What's a dolphin?" Clotho asked innocently, drawing a lock of unbraided hair into her mouth.

"It's a fish as big as me," Laura explained, "curved like the moon."

"As big as Daddy?"

"Bigger, sometimes." She secured the end of one braid with an elastic, and gently reclaimed the lock Clotho had snatched. "They jump out of the water, and talk to each other. Scientists used to say they were smarter than we knew."

"What did they talk about?" Knowing her hair was off limits, Clotho settled for twisting her fingers together.

Laura chuckled quietly. "How pretty the water was," she guessed. "Art, and dolphin books-"

Clotho giggled. "Dolphin books?"

"Yes. And they would teach the baby dolphins about plants and other fish and-"

"Battlestars?" Clotho interjected.

"Exactly." Laura secured the second braid, and pulled Clotho into a hug. "How smart you are."

"Lee says I'm the smartest person he knows," Clotho informed her matter-of-factly, and Laura laughed.

"Well," she said, wondering if Bill had heard this yet, "I suppose he would know."

"He says I get it from you." Clotho twisted and grinned up at her innocently.

"And what does that say about Lee?" Laura murmured in amusement, pressing a kiss to Clotho's hair. Clotho gave her a confused look.

"What?"

"Never mind," Laura soothed. "Mama's just being silly."

* * *

_"He's a frakking terrorist, Mr. Zarek, and this administration does not negotiate with terrorists."_

_"Madam President, he isn't a terrorist, he's simply frustrated."_

_"Pegasus was nearly blown up because of frustration?"_

_"Extreme frustration. Also, your daughter is stripping in public."_

_"Yes." Beat. "She's the only terrorist this administration is willing to work with."_

* * *

"You told Clotho she was the smartest person you knew?" Laura asked dryly, startling Lee from the paperwork he was examining at Bill's desk.

"You'll admit, she has a certain… something," he replied, as soon as he had replaced the scattered papers. "Where is she, anyway?"

"With Bill," Laura answered, taking a seat across from him. "Last time I saw her, she was asking Colonel Tigh why the machine he was at was beeping."

"Did you hear his answer?"

"No, but neither did she." Laura laughed. "By the time he turned to respond, she was already asking Bill if she could go to the observation deck."

"See?" Lee stressed. "She's a natural at multitasking."

"Or something," Laura agreed. "Thank the gods Kara reclaimed Hera and Ismene; otherwise CIC wouldn't survive. As it is, they've become pretty good at ignoring her."

"Survival tactics." Lee signed the last paper, and stood. "So, is Starbuck down in her quarters?"

She smirked. "Actually, I think she was taking the girls to visit the hangar bay."

"Only Starbuck…" Apollo muttered, and kissed her cheek before moving to the door. "I'm going to go and make sure she doesn't let them take off in a viper. I'll be staying for dinner."

"Good," she replied, flipping through her own latest batch of red tape. "We're having fresh vegetables."

"Really?"

"No." She dropped the stack. "On second thought, I'll go with you partway. I have someone to visit."

He eyed the book she slipped off a nearby shelf. "You're still visiting Sharon."

"Don't sound so surprised, Lee," she scolded gently, fingering the small envelope in her pocket. "As if you didn't already know."

"Is that really safe?" he asked, watching as she placed the envelope between the pages.

"Very few things are," she responded with a shrug, her hand resting on the door, yet unopened. "Now, guard your tongue- we're about to enter enemy territory."

"I thought this _was_ enemy territory," he muttered with a grin, and she hit him lightly with the book in her hand.

Halfway down the corridor, she turned back. "Go ahead, I need to grab a sweater," she informed him, and didn't wait for his answer. He would have only told her to go see Cottle, anyway.

* * *

_Somehow- gods only knew how- Clotho had managed to find her way into Baltar's "quarters" shortly after her fifth birthday. He was housed near the infirmary, under what was supposedly constant guard. Apparently, after five years of good behavior (good behavior, in this case, meant mild ranting, constant pacing or rocking, and the occasional request for new supplies to work his Cylon detection machine), guard duty had fallen off somewhat. It was still rather perplexing, however, that nobody noticed a five year old girl making her way into the former president's quarters._

_Clotho, of course, had been brimming over with confidence, and had faced the stranger with no thought to her own safety. This was despite every lecture her parents had ever given her on not trusting strangers; from Clotho's view, if someone was on Galactica, then they were not classified as 'stranger.' "Who are you?" she asked pertly, twisting a curl around her fingers._

_Baltar's hair had been chopped to around his ears a few weeks before, and he bore a few days worth of scruff. "I'm the President," he said. "Have you seen the stars, lately? They're waiting for their time."_

_Clotho had giggled. "You're not the president. My mommy used to be, though."_

_"You're a pretty little girl," he responded, instead. "I was supposed to have a daughter, but she left the stars with her mother." He reached out and fingered an auburn curl. "Have you seen the prophet?"_

_"I dunno." Clotho popped her thumb in her mouth. "What's your name?"_

_"The stars stopped falling a long time ago," he sighed, the curl twined in his fingers. "What are they waiting for?"_

_That was when the soldiers finally burst into the room and separated the two. Clotho was escorted to CIC, where both of her parents were debating with President Foster over the merits of yet again decreasing the water ration, or sending out another search squadron to find water (they eventually decided on the latter, thanks in no little part to the mutual effort of both Bill and Laura). Upon hearing their daughter's little adventure, several things happened at once: five soldiers were thrown in the brig for neglecting their duties, several officers in CIC- namely, Bill and Starbuck- began cursing extravagantly, and the newest babysitter was dismissed._

_Later, they watched the security feed, and Laura considered tossing Baltar out the airlock. And while Bill agreed in principle- not just anybody was allowed to touch his little girl, after all- the president was not exactly sympathetic._

_They never hired another babysitter, after that._

* * *

"New Caprica was always cold," Sharon said, leaning against the wall as she held the phone. "I wasn't there, but sometimes I dream about it."

It struck Laura, as she watched the Cylon through the glass, that Sharon had stayed fresh, young and beautiful despite almost nine straight years in Galactica's brig. Cylon genetics really were amazing. Laura handed the book to the guard, who slid it through the slot generally only used to deliver meals.

"Do you have enough blankets?" Laura asked. "I could arrange for you to have another."

Sharon shrugged. As far as Laura could tell, they had struck up a kind of superficial friendship- she wouldn't turn her back on the girl, but talking was easy enough. If anything, the few pictures she managed to slip Sharon smoothed the way. "I have enough. You should be careful of your health. New Caprica wasn't good to you."

"It wasn't good for anybody," Laura replied dryly, folding an arm across her chest. "Can you tell me anything?"

"Sometimes dreams are only dreams," Sharon offered. "Use your best judgment."

Laura sighed. "Like visiting a frakking seer," she muttered, and placed a hand against the glass. "Stay well."

Sharon smiled slightly, enigmatically. "You too."

Before Laura left, she looked back a final time. Sharon had the picture in her hand, and this time, the smile was real.

* * *

_"What's that, Mommy?"_

"_It's your dinner."_

"_No it isn't."_

"_Yes, it is. Try it, you'll like it." _

"_No. No, Mommy. I won't."_

"_Bill, if you don't stop laughing-"_

"_Daddy, I don't have to eat it. No."_

"_Yes, you do. Laura, you do know that she learned the art of steamrolling over her opponents from you, right?"_

"_Don't be ridiculous, Bill. Clotho, try a bite."_

"_I don't have to eat it. No. Popsicle? Good, good."_

"_At least she's more cheerful about it than you ever were."_

"_Bill…"_

"_Yes yes yes yes yes. Mommy?"_

"_What, Clotho?"_

"_I'm an alligator."_

"_That, I can agree with."_

"_Clotho, alligators eat their dinners."_

"_Yes, Daddy. That is why I am eating this."_

"_She said that like I violated her own personal scripture."_

"_Bill… I think you did." _

"_Grrrr."_

* * *

Lee was buried beneath three small children, and nobody else in the room made any effort to help. For one, it was a relatively common sight- the girls loved to wrestle with their Uncle Lee- and for another, it was amusing, and Starbuck, Laura, and Bill were all about getting their amusements while they could.

"Why do family dinners always end with me being bruised?" Lee asked from the floor, trying to pin down Ismene while Clotho and Hera did their best to obstruct him. "Why am I the designated punching bag, instead of, say, Starbuck?"

Hera shot him an indignant look. "I can't hit Mama."

"Did she tell you that?" Lee asked, trying to loosen Clotho's grip around his neck. "Because she might have been lying."

"Aunt Kara doesn't lie, Lee," Clotho informed him, and plopped down into his lap. Hera and Ismene followed suit, much to Lee's relief, though discomfort.

"Yeah, Lee," Starbuck followed up, grinning. "I don't lie. Listen to the kids."

Laura contented herself with watching from across the room, one cleared and empty plate still in her hand. Bill slipped up from behind her and relieved her of the burden, placing it with the others before returning to her and slipping an arm around her waist. "How about sending Clotho to stay with Lee for a few days?" he whispered in her ear. "It's almost our anniversary…"

"Tempting," she whispered back, "but do you think he could keep up with her?"

He planted a kiss against her neck. Having Clotho in close quarters had not further increased his- well, she hesitated at calling it _modesty_; perhaps decorum was a better word- rather, it had given him an opportunity to become more comfortable with showing affection toward Laura even in semi-public situations. "We probably underestimate him."

Laura could tell that Kara was keeping tabs on this conversation as well, even from the other side of the room. "Obviously, I was underestimating your desperation to get laid," she replied teasingly, at an even lower volume than before. Perhaps Starbuck could read lips, because she tilted her head back in a loud laugh.

"I miss being alone with you," he mumbled against her hairline. "The last time we were alone… we had twenty minutes, and a desk. I'm thinking of your comfort, here."

"Generous to a fault," she muttered. "If you want to risk Pegasus being incapacitated…"

Starbuck proved Laura's lip-reading theory in the next minute. "Laura," she called across the room, "What if I took the girls over to Pegasus for a few days, maybe next week? Act as a chaperone while they wear out Lee?"

Lee looked about ready to protest, but a meaningful look from Kara kept him from opening his mouth. The girls, however, were ecstatic, and one particular bounce of joy from Clotho had Lee wincing.

"Well," Laura said with almost a sigh, "I guess I can't stop you."

_Your funeral_, she refrained from saying.

_You owe me_, Starbuck told her silently, and Laura shrugged, slightly. So she owed the card shark of the fleet. Really, what else was new?

_Besides_, she reflected, feeling Bill's hand curve around her hip. _A few nights alone would be lovely, indeed_. And this time, she'd pay Bill back for the set of fading bruises that she still had on her backside.

* * *

From her spot on the couch, Laura could just hear the conversation between Clotho and Bill as he tucked her in for the night. The book in her hand was abandoned as she continued to listen to their exchange; eavesdropping on them was as much Laura's nighttime ritual as tucking Clotho in was Bill's.

"Tell me a story," Clotho demanded, most likely tugging on one of Bill's sleeves. "Please."

"Do you want to hear about the time when I threw your mother in the brig?" he asked teasingly, knowing full well that Laura was listening.

"No. Tell me about Kobol," Clotho insisted, sounding muffled. Either a thumb or a braid tip was back in her mouth.

Clotho liked to hear about Kobol. Whether it was the adventure it entailed, or just the fact that it took place outdoors, amidst a world so unlike her own, she asked for it at least once a week; twice, if she could get away with it.

"Well," Bill began, and Laura put the book aside to settle in for a better story, "when your mother and I were still getting to know each other, she decided to go with your brother and Aunt Kara on a dangerous trip. She took her very good friend Elosha with her-"

"Because Elosha had a map," Clotho interjected.

"Exactly. And after they left, I was sad."

Laura wondered just how long it would be until Clotho learned that the proper word was not 'sad', but 'betrayed'.

"I would have wanted to go, too," Clotho said knowingly, and her father chuckled. "But then you went too, because you missed mommy."

"That's right," he answered. "I did miss her."

_Liar_, Laura thought fondly.

"And you saw the stars, right?"

"Yes. Your mother was beautiful in the starlight."

She giggled. "Mommy's always pretty."

"Yes." There was a rustle as he adjusted her blankets. "Yes, she is."

Laura pulled her sweater a bit tighter around herself, and wondered what in Hades she would have done with herself if she had actually stolen the frakking election.

When he joined her a few minutes later, she prodded him on the arm and teasingly whispered, "You came to Kobol because you missed me? I'm touched."

"Of course I missed you," he whispered in return, both of them knowing that Clotho could decide to join the conversation at any second. "You were infuriating. I liked that." He pulled her into his lap and ran a hand over the material covering her thighs. "I missed your legs, too."

"If only I had known," she muttered dryly. "Were my legs the reason you reinstated me?"

"No." He sighed. "I really did miss you."

"Good," she said, tucking her head under his chin. "Otherwise I would have spent all that time in cold storage for nothing."

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder?"

"Something like that." She was silent for a moment, listening to his heartbeat, and finally said, "I prayed for you, when I heard you had been shot. Seeing you on Kobol was a sort of miracle."

"I'm glad we found each other," was all he said in reply, but his arms tightened around her, and it was enough.


End file.
